In the Company of Horrors
by shamebucket
Summary: There has never been a time Levi did not know Eren. They lived in the same den with Eren as the watchful center of his life. — Until he wasn't. Until their family is torn apart and their house by the sea, so full of life and magic, is a tomb for the ghosts of memories. But not all ghosts stay gone. Not all memories fade. And they will do anything to have their family back.
1. PROLOGUE - EREN

this is incredibly self-indulgent. im lowkey terrified.

end me.

* * *

 **IN THE COMPANY OF HORRORS**

* * *

 **PROLOGUE**

 **EREN**  
 _claws that catch_

Fear and sulfur clings to their clothes, their hair, their skin. It's thick and cloying, suffocating in this midsummer heat. Humidity does none of us any favors. A couple of the kids smell like wolves, pups still growing into their fur, and they're probably having a hell of a time trying to breathe through the mess. All I know is I'm going to have to scrub the kids down for _days_ to get the odor of filth and dried blood off of them.

A twig snaps behind us and fear spikes harshly in my nose. Levi's little arms try their level best to choke me, trembling anew; he's had his face smashed against my neck since I got him out of that dank cabin, and I worry this is going to stick with him, with all of them, for a long time.

Fuck everything about this situation. I wish I could bring those jackals back so I can rip them apart again.

"S'alright, sweetheart," I soothe. A quick look to the side tells me what I already know: one of the kids tripped, is all. I would have sensed if we were being followed. "Nothin' to worry about. You're safe. We're all safe and we're goin' home. Look, see?" I nudge the side of his head with my nose. He doesn't budge and I don't force it; he'll feel better once he's safe and sound in bed. "I can see the lights from here. We're almost home."

That's mostly true; my sight is significantly better than theirs, but they can still see what looks like a twinkle of stars in the distance. It'll be a while before we get there.

I chance a glance down at the two clutching at my shredded jeans. Armin, too, is trembling against me, his big blue eyes staring at the distant town lights with hope. Mikasa, bless her, is putting on a brave face for me. She's only a year older than the boys. I wonder how much older they'll be after tonight.

"How y'all holdin' up?" I look back at the handful of children huddling close, holding onto me and each other as best as they can without falling all over the place. "Everybody okay?"

A subdued chorus of, "yes," immediately answers me, and I know it's a lie, but I let them keep it. Poor things have gone through hell for who knows how long. The oldest can't be more than thirteen, if that. They're allowed to not be okay.

I'm not okay, either. I haven't told my little ones about what's waiting for them once we get back to town, and I don't know how I'm going to. I keep telling myself there hasn't been time, but we've been walking through the forest for most of the day. I could have made time. It's a nasty surprise to come home to. Mama Kuchel won't be in the best shape to break it to them. Kenny might. Goddess knows he's got an unrivaled poker face. I don't want to upset them any more than I have to, not when they've finally stopped crying.

Truth is, I haven't dealt with it yet. Hasn't sunk in. I've been running on instinct since I woke up on that gurney, tearing out of my body bag in a mindless rage. I knew, distantly, that she was gone. I felt the spark go out, heard her last song. I know the smell of my mother's magic better than anyone. Coming to terms with what she did is going to take much longer than the days I've spent lost amongst the trees, hunting down the bastards that stole my family.

And what about the others? How am I going to look ma'Kuch in the eye again? That was the love of her life bleeding out on the living room floor and I couldn't do a damn thing to save her. Kenny loved her like his own flesh and blood. The kids—fuck, the kids don't know a time before our family; they lost a mother just as surely as I did.

How am I supposed to tell them she gave what little she had left to bring my sorry ass back from the great beyond? One of the few sirens left in this world, and she gave her last song for a dog.

"Eren?" Levi's quiet voice whispers across my skin and I swallow back the tears.

Fuck. They may not have my nose, but Levi and Mikasa have the blood of queens in them. They're strong for their age and will only get stronger. If they couldn't feel my emotions before, they sure as shit can feel the fresh wave of grief pouring off of me. "S'alright," I say into Levi's soft hair. I need to keep it together, at least until we make it back. They have enough to deal with; they don't need my weakness making it worse. "I'm alright. Don't you worry 'bout nothin'."

Armin looks up at me. I catch his eyes and dredge up a smile for him, ruffling his long blonde hair with my free hand. He doesn't have my nose, nor does he have Mikasa and Levi's natural empathy, but he can hear the truth in every lie. I can only guess what his ears caught in my voice. "Everything's gonna be alright, babies. I promise."

He smiles back, small and unsteady. That, at least, wasn't a lie. I won't let it be.

The hike back to Shinganshina is long and arduous. I know every inch of my den's territory and these woods smell nothing like home. I ran hard after those goddamn hellhounds, ignoring the sting from my scraped paws and aching lungs. We were miles from town, but we're making good time.

I'm starting to feel the strain in my muscles, the ache from my flight and the fight that came when I caught up to the animals I hunted. Levi's always been small, hardly weighs a thing, but I haven't given myself a moment to rest. The adrenaline is fading. He feels much heavier in my arms than he should. I tell myself I'll let my body heal as soon as we get out of here.

I didn't expect to find a bunch of terrified children aside from the three I was looking for, and making sure they stay in one piece during the journey back slows us all down significantly, but leaving them behind hadn't been an option. They're well-behaved, though, and understandably quiet. Poor things. I catch a few snippets of whispered conversations between them. It makes me wonder how long they were stuck in that cabin, how long their families have been looking for them.

"You think they'll have some food for us when we get back?"

"Of course, Sash." Sasha's the really skinny one, I remember. She took some coaxing to get out. Didn't trust me for shit, and I can't blame her; I wouldn't trust anything canine, either, after that cabin. Can't tell what she is beneath the filth and sulfur. She's taller than Levi and weighs half as much. The assholes had starved her till she was little more than a skeleton. "Bet your dad'll bake you whatever you want forever."

"You think so, Con?"

"I know it." That's one of the wolf pups. A wolf can smell another wolf a mile away. Even the sulfur can't mask it.

"Think your daddy will make us some, too?" The freckled one. His accent is familiar. Sounds a bit like mine used to when I was his age. South Rose, I'm guessing, or North Maria.

"Of course!" It's the most spirited I've heard Sasha thus far. "We'll all go to papa's bakery after this. You'll see. My papa makes the best sweets in Rose."

"Really? That's amazing. Ain't it, Jean?"

Another wolf. "Yeah, Marco. Real swell."

The other three pups don't talk much, a handful of words exchanged between them. Two boys, one girl. All of them stick close to me and are smart enough not to stray, but the tiny blonde girl—smaller even than Levi—clings to Armin. He called her Christa. They'd been in the same cage together.

An owl hoots overhead. The leaves rustle in a hot breeze that brings no relief. The trees are starting to smell familiar. I think about the plans we had to take the kids camping before I left for college in the fall, introduce them to nature properly. With Levi, the youngest, halfway to twelve, it seemed like the best time. I took a year off after high school to prepare for it, but all the plans we made were for nothing.

This wasn't how they were supposed to learn the taste of earth and the breath of the wild. I was going to teach them how to listen to the trees, how to make sense of their whispers on the wind. For years they'd wanted to come with me on my hunts, to walk the path of the moon, and I longed for their company. Wolves were pack animals, and I was the only wolf in my den. The thought of having my family with me during the change was exciting. We were going to run together once they were strong enough to hold their own.

I wonder if they'll ever be able to step foot in the woods again. They're tough, I have faith they'll make it through this, but the memories of this nightmare will be slow to fade.

A tremor ripples through me. I stumble, winded. Levi panics and tightens his grip.

Fuck. Not now.

"Eren?" Mikasa.

I grit my teeth. "Think you can do me a favor, darlin'?" I gently pry Levi from his koala-hold. He resists, silver eyes wide and worried, but he's a good boy when I need him to be. And right now I really need him to be. "Hold on to your brother for me, okay? Can you do that?" She nods, interlacing her fingers with Levi's. "That's my girl. I need a breather, is all. No worries." I smooth back their hair. They look so much like Kuchel. People often mistake them for twins in spite of the height difference. I check over the others. "Ya'll holdin' up alright?"

Another chorus of, "yes," and a few silent nods.

"Good. Won't be long, now." Something snaps in my back. I withhold a grimace and start walking. The countdown that started days ago is nearing its end. "Ya'll're bein' so brave. Your parents are gonna be so proud. Stay close to me for a little while longer, yeah? This'll all be over soon."

Mother _fucker_. I thought I had more time. All the legends say this shit gets worse with every change, not in a few days, but I guess none of them had ever taken into account my particular circumstance. Not everyday a wolf comes back from the dead.

I just need to get them home. I can hold on till then. Another tremor has me shaking, but I'm prepared for it.

The kids are silent. I can feel them watching me. I know better than to think they don't pick up on the fact that something's wrong; my breathing is loud and I'm trembling with the effort of holding back the shift. A growl crawls up my throat to crash against the back of my teeth. Still, they stick by me and follow without question.

 _Get the fuck back in your cage._

Just get them home. If I can just get them home, everything will be alright.

The first few wafts of home tickle my nose when my knee snaps. My spine breaks in three places. The prick of new bone tears through me, overwhelming and agonizing. I catch myself on a tree, half-formed claws burying themselves in the old bark. Too many teeth crowd my aching mouth. Extra canines slip down and nick my lip.

I was a fool to think my mother's life would be the end of it. A life for a life; equivalent exchange. But her life, however precious, was not enough to pay for the consequences of my choice. She brought me back and I threw it away. In the end, she'd only bought me time.

There's always a catch, and my mother isn't here to pay for my mistakes again.

 _Not yet_. I've never had a lot of control over the wolf. Never needed to. But I'll be damned if I let it get the best of me. Not now. _I ain't done yet._

"It's 'cause you turned against the moon, isn't it."

Jean, the boy with two-toned hair, looks up at me with sharp brown eyes. They remind me of Mikasa's. She always saw more than she should. "Clever pup." A puff of humor escapes me. "Let this be a lesson for ya. Don't be stupid like me."

"You're not stupid," Levi says, suddenly fierce.

Mikasa follows swiftly with, "you saved us."

But I couldn't save my mother. I couldn't stop this from happening. They'll figure that out soon enough, and the thought of their disappointment sends my stomach churning.

I'll never know who they'll grow up into. I hope they'll be strong and smart and kind.

Selfishly, I hope they'll remember me.

I force my knee back into alignment. There isn't time for wallowing. "S'alright. Ain't nothin' to worry about." I limp a few steps before the break heals over. "See? Good as new." Mikasa, Levi, and Armin quickly grab ahold of my belt loops. Jean doesn't look convinced, but he and the others follow suit. "Let's go home."

My last words should have been better ones. _Be good_ or _I love you_ or _I'm sorry_. But anything I could have said will never be enough. Truth is, last words don't matter. What I really want—what we all want, in the end—is more time.

But there's always a catch. Always a price.

This is mine.


	2. ONE - KUCHEL - a many-splendored thing

i forgot what a formatting nightmare this site was. end me.

* * *

 **IN THE COMPANY OF HORRORS**

* * *

 **CHAPTER ONE**

On a cliff overlooking the Emerald Sea, amidst wildflowers in full bloom, sits a woman. Her figure casts a lonely shadow on the rocks below. Many mornings find her here, staring at the distant horizon with distant eyes. There is sorrow written along the curve of her spine, old grief in the curl of her shoulders. Her long black hair billows gently in the summer breeze. In the days following the funeral, many believed she would throw herself into the sea to join her lover. Many still believe she will.

Fifteen years have passed and she has not jumped, but little towns like these have old memories. It remembers the den of oddities in the house on the cliff. It remembers the siren nurse and her wolf son, and it remembers when the cubāre queen and her brood joined them. This little town watched their family grow, and it remembers when it fell apart.

Some say they can still hear the thunderous roar of a mad wolf late at night, and the screams of children that precluded it. But only the superstitious believe such things.

Hannes watches her from the base of the cliff, as he does every morning. He makes it a point to incorporate this route in his patrols. He knew she would not leave her children motherless, not back then, but as time goes on and her isolation grows he worries. Fifteen years is a long time to grieve, even for one of her kind. That family, splintered as it is, cannot take another loss.

Another figure joins the woman on the cliff. Taller, broader, unshaven. Hannes relaxes. He waits another moment before he resumes his daily route, spirits a little higher than before.

.

.

 **KUCHEL  
** _a many-splendored thing_

There was a story my dama told me when I was still a girl, several years before my first marriage. I was naive, then. Bonds were arranged, forged for gain instead of love. But I so badly wanted to believe in romance; white knights who slew dragons for their lady fair, star-crossed lovers who sacrificed everything to be together. My mother often indulged me with love stories, some real, others fantastical. Back then, Dame Ilse did not insist I call her dama, queen-mother, as tradition dictated, or use the royal 'we' with me, and I did not bow in her presence. I was just another little girl, albeit much more fortunate than others.

"The sun," she said, fingers dancing through my hair, "loved the moon so much, he killed himself every night so that she could breathe."

I remember watching her, waiting for more. When nothing else was forthcoming, I pouted. "Is that all? I thought you said this was the greatest love story," I whined. "You said it was the greatest love story in the _whole world_."

"It is."

"That makes no sense," I huffed. "If he died, how come we still see him every day?"

"There is no life without love, my darling," she said, "but you cannot love if you are dead. You can give your everything for it, but, in the end, what we truly desire is to have our love returned. So the sun dies, and the moon rises, and the sun returns. And, sometimes, if we are lucky, we see an eclipse. Do you know what an eclipse is?"

I thought about it. "That's when the—oh!" I lept off of the chaise, excited by the epiphany. "That's when the sun and the moon are together!"

She smiled. "Yes, it is."

"So," I tried, turning it over in my head, "he kills himself, but he comes back because he wants to be with her, and sometimes they get to be together. The end?"

She chuckled. "Not quite. 'Tis more…" Her eyes grew distant. "As with all things worth having, love is sacrifice. You have to give up pieces of yourself to make room for it. But 'tis also selfish because we want it for ourselves. You have to find a balance."

I scrunched up my face, mulling that over. "No."

"No?"

"No." I nodded. "That sounds more like a puzzle to me."

"Oh? How so?"

"You said you have to give up pieces of yourself. So if you give up pieces, and the other person gives up pieces, where do all the pieces go?" I looked over at the window, at the clear blue sky. "I think you have to give each other those pieces. You have to trust that person will keep them safe. And if they do, you get to keep each other. If they don't…" I didn't like the sudden turn my musings had taken, but I had a point to make. "If they don't, if they throw them away or lose them, then you lose that person and those pieces of yourself. Hm." I frowned. "That's sad."

"Such a clever girl," my mother said, grey eyes watching me. "Yes, 'tis sad. But, remember, 'tis not always about endings. Beginnings can be scary and exciting, and middles can be fun. If you think of endings as beginnings, 'tis not so sad. Love is no different, especially for our kind."

"Do succubuses love differently?"

"Succubuses." My mother's eyes narrowed, though her tone remained soft, careful. "Who taught you that word?"

I played with the hem of my skirt. "I heard the maids talking. They said succubuses are always hungry for one thing." I met her eyes. She did not look happy. "Is it love?"

She looked at me for a long time, her jaw tense. Then she beckoned me with bejeweled fingers and I climbed into her lap again. "The plural of succubus is succubi. Do you remember what plurals are?"

"Yes, mama."

"Good. Now I want you to forget that word. Succubus is an archaic term. I never want to hear you say it again, and if anyone calls you that I want you to tell me immediately, okay?"

"Yes, mama."

Her hands resumed their dance in my hair. "Do you remember what Professor Zoe taught you about our kind? What word she used?"

It took me a moment to remember. "Cubāre," I said proudly.

She awarded me with another smile. "Yes. We are cubāre, and we are queens. Never let anyone call you less than what you are."

"Yes, mama." I enjoyed the sensation of her long nails against my scalp for a little while. Then a thought occurred to me. "Mama?"

"Yes, love?"

"What if…" I chewed on my lip. "What if every time the sun dies and there's no eclipse, he loses the pieces he gave to the moon? Do they become stars? I've only seen an eclipse once. That would explain why there are so many, right?"

She didn't immediately answer, studying me. Her eyes seemed to twinkle. "My, you _are_ a romantic. What a beautiful thought. I like it. The end of something beautiful becomes the beginning of something even more beautiful."

"Do you think I'll ever have something like that?"

"Of course you will."

This pleased me. "Did you?"

Shadows fell across her face. "Once." Her voice changed, softened. When she spoke next, it sounded like a warning. "We cubāre are blessed with many gifts, Kuchel, and of those blessings, we are fortunate enough to have a soulmate. Only one other species can claim such a precious gift. Unlike the wolves, however, we can choose." Her hands stilled. "But we can only choose once. Remember that, love. Cubāre live a very long time. You must choose wisely."

I did not take it as the warning it was. To me, it was a promise. There was someone out there who would keep my pieces safe, and I couldn't wait to meet them.

"How will I know who it is?" I asked, excited.

"That is the choice you will have to make. You _must_ choose wisely. We do not have the benefit of second chances."

And she was right.

It took me a long time, with many misadventures along the way, but I do not regret them. The journey gave me Levi, and it was his birth that led me to my destined one.

I often wondered, though, if she had lied to me about choice, or if she was misinformed. Finding my one and only did not feel like a choice. Sacrilege to suggest Dame Ilse mistaken, I know, but we are all flawed; even the queen must answer to the courts, after all. She, too, made mistakes. Her chosen one had proved ill-suited, in the end, and though she claimed no regrets because she had me, I cannot imagine losing those pieces of herself was anything other than painful. I did not realize, then, what it took for her to impart that lesson upon me, what sorrow she sought to spare me.

Perhaps this blessing isn't a blessing. There must be a balance. For all the gifts those of my kind can claim, this one feels more like a curse. A hereditary defect, even; my line is the last of the queens and, in this regard, we have not been very fortunate.

I think of my children, those born of my womb and those I chose as my own. I think of the one I lost, and what those I have left lost. I think of my one and only. I think of what was, what could have been.

The cycle continues. The curse remains.

Even still, I do not regret. I would not give up those years with them for anything. I hurt now because I was so happy then, and I let that comfort me even though the ache where my heart should be threatens to consume me. Perhaps, one day, it will. But not today. Not yet. Not until I find him, till I know what became of him. I cannot join her without that answer.

But days like today make it difficult to remember that.

"How're you holding up?"

I don't know how long he's been standing there, but it does not matter. A minute or an hour more would still have found me here, watching the waves crash against smooth rock, lost in thought. She loved to sit here and sunbathe, and our children would toss themselves off the cliff while we lay together on lazy afternoons. Sometimes, if I listen close enough, I can hear the breath of song beneath the cry of gulls overhead.

He wraps a blanket around my shoulders and sits beside me, his long legs dangling over the edge next to mine. I hadn't realized I was cold until now. I cannot remember how long I've been out here, my ears straining for the ghost of a voice long gone, and I suppose that's part of the problem.

"What time is it?" I ask.

"Little after ten."

He's visiting earlier and earlier these days. I have no doubt he left at the crack of dawn to see me in spite of how busy he is. Kenny is many things, and many of those things are not favorable for the populace at large, but chief among them is his propensity to be the biggest mother hen. Family has always been his greatest weakness; it's laughable, really, how much of a worrywart the infamous Ripper truly is. It's his worst kept secret.

But there's a reason he worries so much. It's been a long time since my brother didn't have cause for concern. And I know I'm not helping matters. He never believes me as much and as many times as I tell him I'm fine.

I would not believe me, either.

The waves below us carry the silence. Talking takes too much effort and the thought of conversation—the kind he wants to have—exhausts me. Today isn't a good day for me.

It's because of today that he's made sure to visit so early. I am not so selfish in my grief that I believe I'm the only one who remembers. All of us lost something that day. Some _one_. There are days I can smile without remembering her lips against mine, when I don't hear her telling me exactly what she thinks about this dress, that recipe, how much wine I drink, how I need to get the fuck out of the house once in a while. There are days I don't lose myself in panic and hope at the sound of howling wolves, or chase after the smallest hint of brown and white fur.

Today isn't one of those days.

I've walked this earth for two and a half centuries, but these have been the longest years of my life. I don't want to pretend I'm okay. Not today. I want to pretend I can hear laughter again; that she'll weave silently through the grass on bare feet with her ridiculous wicker woven picnic basket, humming a tune only she knows, whimsy tucked into the corners of her mouth. Beneath the salt of the sea I'd smell blood and herbs from whatever meal she'd prepared, a smell that would cling to her no matter how much she'd wash her hands. And when she finally plops herself down next to me, close enough to see the sweat curling the hair around her face, I'd be unable to resist stealing a kiss, craving the sweet tang of her in my lungs, on my tongue, _everywhere_. My skin would explode with her emotions wherever we touched, warm and sweet and intoxicating, and our link would thrum with happiness, satisfied.

On the heels of that memory comes another, and I quickly turn away from it. I refuse to think of him as a ghost. I lost my Carla; watched the light fade from her sea green eyes, heard her swansong and knew she was gone. I watched him come roaring back to life as vengeance incarnate, our grief and rage manifest. I cannot dishonor my one and only's sacrifice by thinking her bloodchild dead. He is more than a memory, and I will not disrespect him by allowing myself to believe otherwise, hard as it may be.

But fifteen years is a long time. We've searched for so long. His strength was unparalleled, alarming for a wolf so young, and as wild as the sea his mother hailed from. His strength has fueled our hope in his absence.

But fifteen years is a long, long time.

"He would be thirty-four," I whisper. The wind steals my voice. Kenny still catches it.

"Is," he corrects. Then, with his usual rough affection, "he should've stopped aging by now. Or growing, at least. Little fucker grew like a weed."

A puff of air escapes my nose. That much is true. He towered over all of us, even Kenny, by the time he was eighteen, and he was still growing. Even his second form was big, noticeably larger than the average wolf. He was able to carry the kids on his back with little difficulty when he shifted, and could easily juggle them any other time—a fact Levi took advantage of at every opportunity.

What little humor I have dissipates. My poor Levi. All the children adored Eren, and he was beloved by the townspeople; as the only wolf in the area, he played a special role, which he'd taken on without question. Of everyone that loved him, my shy little Levi had clung to Eren with surprising ferocity. Eren had taken care of him since the day he was born.

Levi vied for Eren's attention constantly. We had a scare when he was five that resulted in long talks and careful monitoring from all parties until the imprinting wore off. Eren stayed at a schoolmate's house for a week to make sure there were no lingering effects, and the separation sent Levi into hysterics. It was normal, harmless for a child with his heritage, and had no effect on an adolescent shifter with his own brand of magic, but Levi was too young to start experimenting with bonds, even familial ones. He did it two more times before Eren himself was forced to sit down with Levi and explain why he shouldn't do that, why he didn't need to because Eren wasn't going anywhere. They were family, he said, and family stuck together. Levi, thankfully, stopped.

We joked about it afterwards, but I wondered. The idea had been tossed around here and there. Levi was more in tune with his nature than he should have been, able to see and feel things much more keenly than I ever had at his age. The truth of the matter, however, remains: Levi was too young to know any better, to understand the gravity behind such a choice. With a wolf, nonetheless, which only complicated matters. Not that Eren, for all of his knowledge and mindfulness of others, had a clue. The boy was strangely innocent in such matters, had never spoken of such things with anyone, never experimented with his peers or showed any signs. Carla and I decided to wait a while before we had _those_ kind of talks—soulmates and destiny are not to be taken lightly. Who knows what could have happened if the jackals had not torn our family apart. We'll never know for sure. But time has shown there is no lasting damage, no unending heartbreak aside from the loss of a family member, and, while I would take whatever complications arose once Levi came of age if it meant keeping us all together, I am thankful my suspicions were unfounded. Levi's choice is still his to make, and a wolf who forsakes the call forfeits his bonds—fated or not.

That does not mean Levi didn't suffer. Oh, how he cried. How he wailed and called for Eren at the edge of the forest, too afraid to step too far into the place of his nightmares, too stubborn not to try. His grief exacerbated the others'; he wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep. He snuck out at night to sit at the edge of the forest, waiting, and I lost count of how many times Hannes, the guardsman, had to bring him home, tossed over his shoulder. And, oh, how he fought. Refused to be picked up, refused any and all attempts to comfort him, threw a tantrum at the slightest and most random provocation.

It wasn't until Mikasa threw a tantrum of her own that we saw any change. Armin was too timid to do much more than cry, sweet, gentle boy that he was, and Levi seemed to have lost all trust and respect for the adults—even Kenny, even me.

"If you cared about him at all," Levi spat between gritted teeth, "you'd be out there looking for him." The look of loathing he threw us was terrifying.

I did not have a handle on my grief. I could not handle my son's vitriol. It had fallen to Kenny to try and keep us from falling apart at the seams. Later, I would look back and admire my brother for his strength, appreciate him anew. I was useless as a mother, as a sister, as a _person_. If I regret nothing else, it was that I could not be the woman Carla needed me to be in her absence, the mother I needed to be for my children. That time caused a rift I'm still trying to bridge to this day.

"We've been looking," Kenny explained, "and we're gonna keep looking. The whole town's tryna find our boy, but they can't do shit with you tryna run off, too, kid."

Levi didn't budge. A few months from twelve and tiny for his age, he shook with emotion too big for his body to handle. "I would have found him by now if you'd just let me _go_."

"Oh yeah?" Kenny crossed his arms. "Then g'head. Go." Levi stared at him, taken aback, unsure. "Go on, kid. Show me how it's done. Show me how one little snot-nosed brat's gonna take down a werewolf that tore through two dozen hellhounds tryna find you kids." Levi sniffled and hunched his shoulders. "Show me how one little boy's gonna find a goddamn _vargulf_ when we've got a whole town full of people lookin' high and low." Still, Levi said nothing, face shadowed by his hair. "You think we ain't been trying hard enough? You think we don't _want_ to find him?"

Levi shook all over again. "No, but maybe you didn't—"

"Don't you _dare!_ " Mikasa, tears staining her cheeks, Eren's old scarf wrapped around her neck, pushed her brother back hard enough that he stumbled. None of us expected the outburst, but Levi least of all; she often looked after him and Armin in Eren's stead, and she was protective of the boys. Mischievous, perhaps, and a bit more reserved, but she could not have loved them more if they were bloodsiblings. Blood ties meant little in our den, anyway. Choice was far more important. I like to think I taught her that.

"Mika," Levi tried, but she was having none of it.

"Don't you _dare_ say we didn't love him enough!" she cried, voice high and ragged. "You're not the only one who cares about him."

Levi looked away. "I wasn't—"

"Yes you were. I know you, Levi. You always wanted Eren for yourself, and he let you do whatever you wanted because you're the baby. You didn't know any better." She scoffed. "But you do. You _should_. Eren wasn't yours, he was _ours_ , and we _all_ lost him. If you go running after him now, we're gonna lose you, too, and I'm not going to lose _both_ of you. I _won't_."

They stood staring harshly at each other, hands curled into trembling fists. I wanted to go to them, to hug them both, but I couldn't summon the energy to peel myself from the couch. The silence was thick with tension. Their emotions brushed over me, a cloud of heavy rain full to bursting. Kenny watched with a blank face.

Then Levi sobbed, and all the fight bled out of him. "I miss him," he warbled, choking on his tears. The dark, angry thing that had taken ahold of him was nowhere to be seen.

Mikasa softened. "Me too."

"What if they can't find him?"

"They will. They have to."

"What if they _can't?_ "

"Then _we_ will. We'll bring Eren home if it's the last thing we do, Lee." She sniffled. "Just like he did for us."

Levi hiccuped, rubbing his eyes with his balled-up hands. His sobs grew in force and volume. "I miss Eren," he cried loudly. "I want Eren back! _I want Eren back!_ "

Mikasa broke with him. "Me too." She folded him into her arms and they cried themselves dry on the living room floor, not a foot away from where we found Carla. Quietly, Kenny carried them to their room.

The image haunts me still. My children suffered while I was paralyzed with grief. Carla would have scolded us both—Kenny for his harshness, me for my uselessness. None of us handled ourselves well, and had it not been for the community that mourned with us, and the kids' remarkable fortitude, we might not have pulled through. It took months for me to snap out of the empty stupor I'd fallen into, drifting in and out of delusional hysteria. By then, the children were feeding and bathing themselves, tucking themselves in to bed and making their own lunches for school. Kenny did what he could, juggling me, the kids, and the search that grew more hopeless with each day, each possible sighting and promising lead that went nowhere. I'd missed Armin's and Levi's birthdays, was barely coherent through Mikasa's.

When Carla died, she'd taken all the pieces I'd given her with her. When Eren ran, protecting us from himself, he took even more. What few pieces I had left no longer made a whole person, a puzzle with only the edges filled in and nothing in the middle to complete the picture. They were gone. We were left behind, hollowed out and broken.

I have my good days. I pour what's left of me into what's left of our family. They get irritated with my worrying, but they bear it. They don't turn me away as I constantly fear they will. It's too little too late, but I have to try. Carla wouldn't let me hear the end of it if I don't.

I have bad days, too. Many, many bad days. Less and less over the years, but more than is acceptable, I'm sure. Most mornings begin with me standing here, on Carla's favorite cliff, watching the distant horizon as if I can find them in the blurry divide between sky and sea. That is, if I make it out of bed at all. I made the effort today because I could not stand another minute in that empty house, listening to the whispers of old ghosts.

It's been over a decade and a half since my home knew the chatter of giggling children, the absentminded sweetness of a siren's song, the excited bark of a doting wolf. The halls are cold and barren, now, but they still echo with forgotten warmth. In the old days, a gathering of my kin was called an opulence: an opulence of succubi, or a party of incubo. Old words for old times, and only the old and jaded called those of cubāre descent such crude names anymore. Carla called it a den, an ideology she'd adopted from her son's heritage, and I much preferred the simplicity of it. We were a family of oddities and our den was perfect. In all the long years of my life, I've never been happier.

I remember the last summer we all had together. It was the summer before Eren went to college. He'd been excited and anxious, eager to spread his wings at nineteen, but enough of a mama's boy that he feared leaving the comfort and safety of our den. We were all so proud of him; he was the talk of the town, and after taking a year off to work and plan one more adventure for the children, he was ready to accept his full-ride scholarship to one of the most illustrious schools in the country. Carla and I were beside ourselves, and Kenny would not stop boasting to anyone who would listen that one of his kids was going to be a bonafide doctor.

Levi made such a fuss; he cried and pouted and gave Eren the silent treatment, avoiding him like the plague one moment and clinging to him like a baby koala the next. We used to talk about the terror Levi would become once he'd grown into himself and shed his innocence, what he would do when he realized the power he wielded with Eren wrapped around his little finger. It was endearing to watch and took our minds off greater concerns.

Our biggest worry had been the wolf. Eren's shifting was erratic at best, overwhelming him when he didn't expect it. There were times when he was lost to his wolf for days before and days after the full moon, running wild in the woods and padding through the house like a huge puppy until, at last, he came back to himself. A day or two was normal, expected in a young wolf, but Eren would be stuck in the change for a _week_. Unfortunately, he didn't get his shifting from his mother and his father wasn't even a memory to him. It was common knowledge that werewolves only took their bestial form when the moon called to them. To turn on the wrong moon was forbidden and led to dire consequences. Eren had shown no signs of lunacy thus far, but we feared what would happen if he got stuck for longer than a few nights a month so far from home. He'd already learned to control his temper, a side effect of being around younger children all his life, and he found creative ways to vent his passions. He was a strong, capable young man. He was protected in Shinganshina, cared for and revered; as proud as we were, we were also afraid.

That summer was an endless blur of barbeques and friendly gatherings. Eren couldn't take a foot outside the door without an admirer or a well-wisher accosting him at every turn. Levi stuck to him like glue, holding his hand, his belt loop, or outright demanding to be carried. While Eren was preoccupied with Levi's moodswings, Mikasa and Armin grew more daring and went off exploring—much to everyone's chagrin. Carla and I took turns planning Eren's surprise farewell party between shifts at work, and we were constantly sending Kenny out to buy this, get that, measure this, hold those. The camping trip he was so excited for masked our intentions perfectly.

On nights that allowed it, we'd make a pillow fort for the kids. Well, Kenny and Eren made the pillow fort. Carla baked cookies. I brought myself and my stories. We huddled together in a pile by the air conditioner as I told them the stories my dama used to tell me, sometimes watching movies until the little ones curled up against Eren and passed out.

We were so happy. We were so _happy_. It felt indulgent to be so happy. Decadent. Not scraping by to survive, wondering where the next meal would come from, giving up everything for a few scraps of paper. This was a happiness I could not have dreamed up in a thousand lifetimes because I hadn't known it existed. It felt like I'd overcome every hardship just to be here, like all the jewels and titles I'd left behind to forge my own path was worth it, and I would do it all over again if it meant I could steal one more moment of that perfect happiness.

And then the jackals came.

A sudden pressure brings me back to the present. Kenny wraps an arm around me. I lean into him, anchoring myself. He pulls me close for a moment, absorbing my weight and the maelstrom of emotions I'm sure I've been sending his way.

I let the memories go, for now.

"How are they?" I ask.

"Fine, for the most part." There's something in his tone that makes me look at him for the first time since he showed up. Sadness wells up behind the Ackerman stoicism, a kind of bittersweet acceptance I don't know how to interpret. We don't hide our emotions from each other and, normally, I can feel his as clearly as my own, but he's trying to hide this from me. He's conflicted about something. "Between Mika and Armin, the club's in good hands. They're managing shit better than I ever did. Blondie swims around and wags his tail, and the boys come running. Even my fighters drool over him." Kenny pulls out a rumpled pack of cigarettes. "Gets the blood pumping. Works like a charm."

"Hm." Armin's grown well. Still timid, as he's always been, but no longer afraid to be himself. The lonely little sea sprite who followed Eren home so long ago took a while to get used to us, and we welcomed him easily into our fold—in spite of the friction Armin's attachment to Eren caused with Levi. But Eren's always had a way with shy, introverted people. They flocked to him as moths to a flame, coaxing them out of their shells. That Carla shared some of Armin's gifts was a boon to my sea urchin, where pods did not welcome outsiders, orphaned child or otherwise. "He is lovely," I agree. "He's grown into his fins."

"Sure did." A comfortable pause. "Kasa runs a tight ship," he adds. "The only thing I have to worry about is the cage. She's got a knack for numbers." Kenny hums and it sounds amused. "The dogs drool after her, too, but they know better."

Of course they do. Mikasa is as beautiful as she is strong. She reminds me so much of my sister, much more reserved and dignified than I ever was at her age. While I was daydreaming about romance and destinies in the stars, Kazhmir was the dutiful princess, attending all her lessons and minding her manners. Somehow, Mikasa had inherited my eyes; instead of Kaz's pale silver blue, she'd gotten my mix of silver violet. It's no wonder many mistake her and Levi for twins in spite of the height difference. They're nearly identical.

Speaking of. "And Levi?"

And there it is. The sadness he can't quite hide. The conflict. "The runt's been going through partners like it's going outta style. Not that he tells me anything, mind you, but Mikasa knows how to get it out of him." He blows out a ring of clove-scented smoke. "Mostly girls, from what I've seen, but this one's a boy. Big fucker, too. Pretty sure he's a sphinx. Or maybe that's his friend. Fuck if I can keep 'em all straight."

"A sphinx."

"Yeah. Y'know, no pupils, never makes sense, smells like bullshit."

I smile. "I hope you didn't say that in front of him."

"Course I didn't. Levi never brings any of his playthings around me. Far as I know, he dates 'em for a while, then leaves 'em when they start gettin' pushy." Another ring of smoke. "No wolves. Plenty of lone ones come sniffin' around, but they back off real quick. Ain't 'cause of me, neither." Pride colors his words. "Even if the kid didn't handle 'em, the pack watches out for them when I'm not around."

That relieves some of my worry. The children Eren rescued from those child trafficking jackals had long memories, and they've come by the house a few times. I know they patrol the area in Eren's stead, have done so since they were old enough to leave their birth packs to find their own. Before that, wolves from their home tribes would come since we no longer had a wolf of our own. Time and distance did not absolve them of whatever misplaced guilt or obligation they seemed to have developed in the wake of Eren's disappearance. I've told them many, many times not to fret, not to shoulder a burden that isn't theirs to own, but they are stubborn—as wolves tend to be. I'll find food and gifts on my doorstep every now and again. If they catch me on a good day, I'll let them raid the fridge and kip on my floor before they have to make the long trek back home. I leave my door open for the days I get lost in memories, the bad ones that keep me in bed. Goodness knows how they manage their lives and Shinganshina's territory when they have their own to keep watch over, but they do.

Eren would have liked them. I wish he had them around when he was a boy, figuring himself out, learning the moonlit paths of his goddess. There was a loneliness in him we could not fill, though he was careful to hide it. With the children too young, and work and school making our time together precious, he often ran alone. We wanted to change that, had plans to teach the children his routes, take them on his hunts. I remember the gleam in his eyes when we first discussed it. Carla confessed how it pained her to realize she had not seen how lonely he was. We were his den, she'd said, his pack; we were supposed to fill that need. And we were going to. We wanted to. We made plans to.

He would have been a wonderful teacher to a bunch of pups. He was marvelous with children, as my own can attest, and sharing the moon and the forest with others would have made him very happy, I think.

If— _when_ —he comes home, he'll have no shortage of companions. He will already have a pack that admires him, that cares for his family. And if he thinks he will ever run alone again, I'm sure Levi, Mikasa, and Armin will be quick to correct him.

But something Kenny said nags at me. "Pushy?"

"Yeah. Pushy."

I wait for an elaboration. When nothing comes, I try to make sense of his words. Kenny's better at picking up changes in vernacular than I am, but some meanings are universal. They don't change with time. I don't like the implication. "Explain, Kennard."

He must hear something in my voice. The look he gives me reminds me of our younger years, when our dama found him after a night of debauchery and demanded the truth. I didn't mean to use my voice against him like that. He's done nothing to earn my ire. It's the thinly veiled suggestion that someone has dared to force my son that riles me so, and his hesitance does nothing to soothe me. Finally, he sighs, a great gust of air that's more smoke than anything else. "Fucking hate that shit," he mutters. Then, "nothing happened, Kuch. Fuck knows there ain't nobody that can tell him what to do." There was, but neither of us are willing to correct him. "He's untouched, as far as I know. That make you feel better?"

I frown. "Since when does he take you into his confidence?"

"He doesn't."

"Then how—?"

"Kasa. She loves gossip. Only one who loves gossip more than her is Armin, and what she can't get outta him, Armin will fish it out." I snort in spite of myself. "Yeah, I know. Wouldn't guess it by looking at 'em. Worse than the old biddies at court. 'Member them?"

"I try not to."

"They weren't that bad."

"Because you were trying to sleep with their precious little sons and daughters."

He scoffs. "'Trying'? Excuse you, I did a lot more than _try_ , Kuch."

"You did a lot less when I got to them first."

He catches my eye and we snicker. Kaz was the only one of us with any sense of decency. We always said she should have been the heir, not me. Had she survived Mikasa's birth, she might have been. It's nice to remember without the weight of sadness clouding my thoughts. Kenny and I were a disaster. Not much has changed.

I let myself enjoy the easy laughter, the camaraderie. The clouds don't feel as heavy. "So Levi is dating indiscriminately for reasons unknown. And no one's forced him?"

"You think he'd let anyone touch him without permission? You think Mikasa would? Shit, the pack would tear 'em apart." Another drag. "Nah, he's safe. Ain't no one gonna touch him if he don't want it."

I nod. "Good." Tension slowly bleeds out of me. "Strange, though. Abstinence isn't something our family is known for." Kenny mumbles something. I pay him no mind. "None of my business, I suppose. He's always been picky." An understatement. Levi had been such a fussy baby. It doesn't surprise me he's unwilling to give himself to someone he doesn't trust. At least, I assume that's what's going on. I'm sure there's a word for that. "What of Mikasa and Armin? How are they? You told me what they're up to, but have they found anyone?"

Kenny leans back on his hands, smirking inexplicably. "Are _we_ a couple of gossiping biddies, now?"

I shrug. "It's been a while since I saw them last. I'd like to know if I've missed anything important."

"Why don't you come back with me?"

I freeze.

"C'mon, Kuch," he continues. "Just for a little while. Nothing's gonna happen if you take a break from watching the house." Quietly, he adds, "you haven't left in years. Nothing's gonna change in a few days."

"I know," I admit, but that doesn't make this any easier. The thought of leaving sends a bolt of panic through me. I know, I _know_ a few days will not change anything. Fifteen years and neither hide nor hair of him. He's not going to magically appear. Playing sentry in my empty home will not make him come back, and my leaving will not affect the chances of him being alive. It's irrational. I know better. But I can't let go. "Let me think about it."

He wraps his arm around me again. "Sure. Take your time, sis. Let me know and I'll come and scoop you up, alright?"

"Alright." I hide my face in his neck. "Thank you."

"Anytime."


	3. TWO - LEVI - no place like home

my sister doesn't like anime, and she has no idea what this fandom even is, but she's the one who deals with my whining and fussing and fretting over this story on the daily. this is the result of her endless patience.

love her. end me.

* * *

 **IN THE COMPANY OF HORRORS**

* * *

 **CHAPTER TWO**

"The little one's been wandering around in the woods again."

No clarification is needed. They know quite a few short people—and certainly many shorter than they are—but there is only one person Reiner refers to as 'the little one' with regards to the family. He likes his nicknames, says it helps him remember people better. It's far from his strangest quirk. Reiner's inability to remember names when he can remember what someone ate from a single whiff he took three years ago is pretty tame, all things considered.

Kenny pulls out a cigarette from a brand new pack. Checking up on his sister yesterday drained the rest of the one he'd been picking at for a month. He'd picked up a carton on the long ride back. The way things are going, he'll have to grab another before the week is out. "Sleepwalking?"

"Yup."

That's the third time this week. Strange. "You took him back home?"

"Of course," Reiner rumbles. "Everything all right, boss?"

That's a loaded question. The pack knows to keep their distance on the anniversary; they're not the most sociable on the best of days, but it's especially wise to steer clear of the Ackermans around this time of year. Everyone has their crosses to bear, their own demons to reflect on. Still, someone has to keep everything running smoothly. He'll hole up somewhere and be miserable for a while once everyone gets their shit together. There will be time, later, to lament this new normal they've lived for over a decade. So, for the time being. "Yeah, everything's fine, kid."

Reiner doesn't look like he believes him. Kenny forgets, sometimes, how weirdly maternal bears can be. But Reiner doesn't push, doesn't pry, and leaves him to enjoy his cigarette in peace.

.

.

 **LEVI**  
 _no place like home_

Border towns like Shinganshina are rare. Not because of its isolation, and definitely not because of its inhabitants, but because of its veils. Border towns are generally common along coastlines and at the edges of forests, popping up here and there wherever two planes meet. With the Emerald Sea caressing its ivory shores, and acres of forest winding around its nebulous borders, Shinganshina is cocooned between two powerful gateways. It is uniquely positioned in a kind of limbo, rooted in neither the mundane human realm, nor the underworld my kind hails from, and, at times, appearing in both or neither simultaneously. Its constant flux made it a dangerous place to those who do not know how to navigate its ever-fluctuating boundaries. This is why anchors are needed, why border towns and certain types of shifters have formed a symbiotic relationship. Living in such an unstable place would be impossible otherwise.

In spite of how often you'll find a wolf lurking around these parts, they are impossible to find in the human world. They stick to their forests and border towns, constantly patrolling, constantly watching and waiting. They are the most attuned to and affected by the world around them. All shifters are an amalgam of magicks, wild and chaotic forces that are neither light nor dark. Conduits rather than conjurers. Wolves, though, are important cogs in the cosmic machine, servants to the eternal balance. A border town without a wolf pack is left vulnerable. They don't last long.

That's what Hanji says, anyway. It's the one subject I will always listen to without question. Back when she made it her mission to bother the living shit out of me, she always made sure to drop a bit of relevant information to lure me into conversation. Stupid, clever sphinx. I was hungry for knowledge pertaining to wolves when I went to college, as if the shadows dogging my steps would go away if I learned more about them. I've built up an encyclopedia of random bullshit thanks to Hanji, and I know more about wolves and shifters than is probably healthy, but her tricks still work on me. Mention wolves and I'm all ears.

Trost seems to have an abundance of wolves, among other things. It's nice to be close to the veil again. The forests of Trost are nothing like the wild woods of Shinganshina, but it's much better than the nothing of human metropolises like Stohess. If Shinganshina was the border town of border towns, Stohess was the opposite. I couldn't breathe for how crowded it was, full to bursting with humans and the filth that came with big cities. I was a country bumpkin lost in a concrete jungle. I still don't know what I was trying to prove, striking out on my own like that to go to a college I wasn't really interested in, but Hanji was there. It was a relief to find someone just as lost as I was. Places like Trost, in comparison, are a nice medium between the two extremes. I can see why Kenny set up shop here. Even if Trost lost all its wolves, the boundaries here are stable enough to make due for a while on its own.

Shinganshina is a fair distance away, and a bitch to get to, but it makes sense that the wolves here serve more as an anchor there than their home turf. I never realized how weak the veils there were, how much maintenance goes into its boundaries. The leylines there are swollen with magic, fat veins delving into the heart of the planet. I had always known their presence, thick and tangible enough to taste in the air. But Shinganshina had survived—had _thrived_ —for years with only a single wolf to call her own. It wasn't until she lost her anchor that any of us really understood the monumental task Eren had undertaken when he was just a child—and continued to bear with no complaint. While we had mourned the loss of our family, Shinganshina mourned the loss of her beloved wolf.

She seems settled, though. The kids from the cages are her anchors now. She'd thrown a few tantrums in her grief, lashing out at the wolves from other tribes that came to help, but time heals all wounds. The magic there doesn't sing like it used to, of course. The trees don't dance like they did whenever Eren ran among them. But she's settled, quiet, and the wolves haven't reported any problems for a long time.

A part of me, small and dark and selfish, feels betrayed by my hometown's acceptance of new guardians. It's stupid. I should have gotten over it by now. I knew what would happen if Shinganshina were left to her own devices. It would be a catastrophe. I'd always thought of Shinganshina as a living, breathing entity, but to think of her as a nanny choosing favorites is ridiculous. I'm actually fond of the pack, too. I have nothing against them. We're lucky they and their tribes took up the mantle, else Shinganshina would have fallen a long time ago.

But they're not Eren.

I blame this shitty time of year. I hate summer. Everything's too hot, too bright, too sticky with humidity that makes the air too thick to breathe. There are bugs _everywhere_. Even Armin's paper-thin water barrier can't keep them at bay. Everything feels heavy, weighted, like fingers trying to drag me down. All I want to do is hide under my blankets in my air-conditioned room, but Armin had other plans when he dragged me out of bed at noon.

It's a shame he grew immune to my terrible attitude. Between him and Mikasa, I can't catch a break.

"Put that glare away," Mikasa says quietly, low enough so Armin won't hear. "He's trying really hard."

I know. Watching my brother try to slap away the rainclouds over our heads with his false cheer, like he does waves with his pretty tail, is a little painful. I can feel the turbulent waters rumbling beneath the surface of his big blue eyes. I know Mika can feel it, too. I don't know what's gotten into him, and I don't know which is worse: this forceful attempt to pretend he's not a half-sigh away from a depressive coma, or the actual depressive coma that makes him unreachable for days—sometimes _weeks_. "It's called resting bitch face," I tell her. "Can't help it."

Mikasa snorts softly into her scarf. How she's wearing it in this weather is beyond me. Must have a cooling charm on it or something. "Is that what humans call it?"

"Mhm. They have names for everything. The internet's a fucking disaster, but it's the best mistake they've ever made." I look around the buzzing cafe. Armin is still staring at the selection overhead with wide eyes as if he's never been in a Starbucks before. He hasn't. To be fair, this is probably the first Starbucks to have ever crossed over into the underworld, and my siblings have only ever crossed over to visit me when I was away at school. If reception wasn't so terrible across the planes, I'm sure we would have only seen each other on skype. Which reminds me. "We should ask if they have wifi."

My sister looks at me as if I've spoken another language. "I'm going to pretend I know what you're talking about."

"It's the thing that gives you internet."

She tilts her head. "Like a dispensary?"

"Kind of? It sends out signals and shit. You put in the password and you can talk to other people online. Like, uh… like a highway? An information highway, but with a lot of cats and assholes." I shrug. "I don't know how the fuck it works, Mika, it just does."

"Sounds like magic."

"I guess. It's a good way to waste time. You can buy and sell things. I used to torrent movies all the time."

"Torrent?"

"Steal."

She narrows her eyes at me. "Did you get caught?"

"Of course not," I scoff. "I used Hanji's VPN." At her blank stare, I try to elaborate. "It's like putting on a mask to hide who you are, except this hides _where_ you are, too."

"Useful. Just be careful when you do stupid shit, Levi."

I raise an eyebrow at her. "How do you know it's stupid if you didn't understand a word I said?"

She smirks, a small and mischievous thing, and I realize I've been had.

"I hate you."

Her laughter ripples sweetly throughout the cafe like windchimes. The lavender in her silver eyes glitters in the flickering lights from the floating lanterns all around us. It suddenly hits me that this is the first time I've seen her smile in who knows how long. She's almost two years older than me, and she should stop aging soon if she hasn't already, but the years haven't been kind to us. She looks so tired these days. I don't mind her teasing if it chases the away the shadows on her face. "How do you think we keep the club stocked?"

"You're always sending the shifters out on supply runs," I argue, crossing my arms.

"Yeah, for personal things. Usually lunch or something if they're already on the way out. Not alcohol, though. Have you _seen_ them? Ymir drinks liquor like it's water. As if I'd trust them with all that booze. They'll either break all the bottles in transit, or drink it all and _say_ they broke all the bottles in transit." She snorts. "We have a porter that travels to and from the human warehouses for us when we place our orders, but we still have to cross over to place them."

"Okay, smartass," I grumble. There's no heat behind it.

"Stop pouting."

"I'm not pouting."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

" _Yes_ , you _are_."

" _No_ , I'm _not_."

" _Yes_ —"

"I'd hate to break up this riveting conversation," Armin interrupts. The barista has his face in his hands. "But I know what I want to order."

"Thank the _gods_ ," the barista quietly groans. I feel for the guy. I was a barista for a time, and lines like the one accumulating behind us would have set me off. All the bitching and whining is annoying, and the added bonus of being able to feel all that malice clouding the air made it worse. I've learned to close myself off from feeling every little thing every passerby feels, but crowds tend to work up a storm, and the accumulated punch of emotion is dizzying. This guy should consider himself lucky. Mikasa has been sending a steady wave of calm throughout the cafe while Armin took his time deliberating, and I stared down anyone that dared cause a fuss otherwise. So, as much as I can empathize, I shoot the barista a quelling look, too. My brother is extremely indecisive on the best of days, but if he needs an hour to make a choice, then he's going to take his hour and then some. No one is going to make him feel bad for it, and no one is going to rush him.

I'm not at all surprised when he orders a salted caramel hot chocolate with extra chocolate shavings, plus two extra pumps of caramel. He asks for sea salt on top of the whipped cream. I wonder if he's making a joke. Armin does weird shit like that, makes little inside jokes to himself we only ever catch onto if we pay close enough attention. He gets ridiculously happy when we figure it out. I file his order away, just in case it's something I need to revisit.

He would have loved the unicorn frappuccino I used to make back in Stohess. Hanji, the mutant, drank three every shift. I eye the supplies behind the counter. They may or may not be able to make it here. I'll try ordering him one the next time we come around—and it's obvious by the look on Armin's face that we're going to come back.

Mikasa orders a strawberry latte, plus two pumps of strawberry, and wants actual strawberries on her whipped cream, not just the syrup. The barista—Farlan, according to his nametag—fusses around behind the counter for a bit before he finds the strawberries and cuts them up, looking stressed all the while. When he's done, Mikasa slips him a five. He looks much happier afterwards.

I order an osmanthus oolong. They don't have it. Not surprising for a small place like this. I order a gunpowder green tea—with mint, if they have it—but that's a no-go, too. So I try an Assam. Basic shit. Sill nothing. Earl Grey? Nope, nada, zilch.

"What _do_ you have?"

Farlan digs around under the counter and pulls out a teabag.

A _teabag_.

I wrinkle my nose. "Disgusting. Tell your boss you need to get loose leaf. No clippings, no shavings, and nothing in bags. Actual full leaves. None of that pyramid bag shit, either. Leaves need room to open. Plus, you can make multiple brews with one serving. It would be cost-effective, _and_ add to your menu." I stare at the offensive teabag. "Jesus. Have you _tried_ that shit? You might as well lick floor dust. How the fuck do you make tea lattes?"

"We don't."

"Are you—what? For fuck's sake. Where's your boss? This is ridiculous. I'm going to shove some basic fucking knowledge up their—"

"He'll have a medium roast," Mikasa intervenes. "Black, like his humor."

I glare at her, but I don't object. That doesn't sound bad. "Brazilian, if you have it."

Farlan scurries off as fast as he can. I feel a little bad. Didn't mean to go off on the guy. Not his fault. But, Christ, why is it so hard to find a good cup of tea around here? Tea's been around since forever. They used to cultivate this specific type of tea around Shinganshina I can't find anywhere else, and Shinganshina's the most isolated town on this side of the continent. If a bunch of backwater hicks can do it, why can't this Starbucks knockoff?

"Stop being so fussy," Mikasa murmurs. "We'll find you some tea on the way home."

I make a noise of acquiescence in the back of my throat. "Fine."

"Here." She hands me a five. "It's the least you can do."

"You're acting like I harassed him."

She gives me the side eye for a long moment, then goes back to sipping her drink. Armin licks salt off his lip. A bunch of people behind me start muttering and huffing impatiently, but one look from Mikasa shuts them up real quick.

Farlan doesn't look as if he would spit on my grave after I slip him the five, but he's not any happier to see me when I return a few moments later demanding something to clean the disgusting table with. We pick a corner booth because it makes Armin feel safe, and it's a nice setup. The floating lanterns aren't anything you'll ever see in any other Starbucks. Neither are the runes that glow every time someone walks through the door, or the ones scrawled all over the place; on the mugs to regulate temperature, on the walls for the same, the mandatory protection charms tucked into the corners. The color scheme, too, is different, all reds and warm browns with gold accents. Red velvet curtains are draped around the large windows, tied back with gold chains braided with trinkets. The cushions in the booth we selected look old, but comfortable and clean. The tables have a mahogany finish, and I'm sure they would have been lovely if they weren't inexplicably sticky. I refuse to let Mikasa and Armin sit until it's been cleaned.

As I quickly wipe it down, I can't help thinking that he would have loved this place. Red was his favorite color. It isn't a coincidence all of us decided to wear red today; Armin's skirt, Mikasa's shorts and scarf, my shirt. The gilded key bounces gently against my ribs as I move, suspended on a red leather thong beneath my shirt, a constant reminder of its original owner.

Armin is clever. Always has been. I have no doubt he planned this out down to the smallest detail. There's a reason he picked today of all days to try this place that screams Eren. I just can't figure out what his endgame is, what he's trying to accomplish here.

We settle into the booth once I give the cleaning supplies back to the aggrieved barista. I can feel his exasperation, the irritation thrown my way, but there's a sliver of humor there. And beneath that, interest. Surprising. I stare at him, sipping my coffee. I thank him on a whim, holding his gaze for as long as he lets me before his eyes dart away. His cheeks bloom with color. Embarrassment suffused with a curl of warm pleasure. Interest again. Curiosity. A hint of daring and he looks back at me, surprised that I'm still watching him. He drops his change, startled.

I snort into my mug and head back to the booth.

"What was that?" Armin wants to know as I slide in beside him. Mikasa sits on his other side, amused.

"An experiment." Hanji would be proud.

"Don't you already have a boyfriend?"

"No." Never really had one, boy or otherwise. A few dates do not a relationship make, and none of them have made it past three.

Armin frowns. "But I thought—didn't you go on a date with Erwin just last night?"

"I broke up with him."

"Why?"

I shrug. "Wasn't interested."

"He asked you out three days ago, Lee." He seems oddly despondent. "That's the third one this _month._ "

I raise an eyebrow at him. "You sound more broken up about it than I do. Are _you_ interested in him? He's a nice guy and all, but kind of…" I search for the right word. The vampire was loaded, sure, which is always a bonus. Wasn't enough for me. "Boring. Not that there's anything wrong with boring, I guess. He's just not my kind of boring."

Mikasa sends me an assessing look. "You're too picky."

"It's called having standards."

"It's called idolizing a memory," she throws back.

It takes me a split-second to process the insinuation. The anger is sudden and fierce, burning behind my eyes, rumbling in my chest. I make sure none of it shows on my face, but I can't hide the way my canines have grown in response to the offense, nor the hissing crackle in the back of my throat.

" _Mikasa_ ," Armin hisses, low and scandalized. "That was way out of line."

Immediately, her shoulders sag. "Sorry," she says, eyes lowered in contrition.

"Levi," Armin murmurs in a soft, soothing tone, reaching up to scratch the growing stubble of my undercut. He applies gentle pressure to the base of my skull, the knobs of my spine, the nape of my neck. Sneaky little fish. The crackle becomes a purr before I can stop it. "We're all a little moody today. Let's not kill each other before breakfast, okay? I'd like to try that crepery that opened up downtown. I hear they even make soup crepes. You like soup dumplings, right, Lee? I bet you'll love these."

I grumble an affirmation once he takes his hand back. I have to swallow the whine that crawls up my throat when he stops. The comment still stings, but I let it go. For now.

We sip our drinks in silence. The cafe's chatter provides a buffer, the sounds of conversation from the neighboring tables diffusing the tension. The atmosphere here isn't bad. Calm, not too loud. How much of that is real and how much of that is Mikasa's lingering influence is up for debate. The coffee isn't bad, either. I'll have to ask about the roast before we leave, see if I can grab a bag for the apartment.

Briefly, I wonder if this is where Hanji has been getting her caffeine fix since I haven't been brewing any. There's a tea shop down the road I've been meaning to visit, a distributor rather than a cafe, but there aren't a lot of places around here to get a good cup of coffee. Unless she's been hiking over to the market district, this has to be it.

Armin and Mikasa live on the rural side of town. It's nice, quiet, and clean. Manicured lawns, friendly neighbors, all that jazz. Their apartment is a two-floor suite that can fit about five of the apartments Hanji and I shared in college, complete with three and a half bathrooms, four bedrooms, a private balcony, and one hell of a view. It's at the top of what I think is—or used to be—a hotel. I'm not sure. They have a private elevator for their floor, and a special keycard full of who knows what kind of spells to use said elevator. I've never seen anyone else who lives in the building. It's the fanciest, most high-class shit I've ever laid eyes on.

They have a fucking _concierge_. His name is Mike. I think he's a shifter. Hell if I know what kind, but he likes sniffing people, so that's something. Otherwise, he's pretty chill.

When I bit the bullet and asked them if they knew any places I could rent, they insisted I move in with them, even with the added baggage of a tagalong. I was too grateful to question it. Dropping out hadn't been an easy decision, but Hanji and I had made it together when it was clear we had no fucking clue what we were doing. We spent years suffering through classes together; I couldn't leave her behind. And Stohess was too expensive, too noisy, too crowded. Too _human_. It's been a month since I moved to Trost and it still feels like I got lucky. I owe Armin and Mikasa a lot.

I suppose I feel a little envious. They seem to know what they're doing, what they want, where they want to go. They're successful. Managing a club is lucrative work when that club serves as a safe haven for all manner of freaks. Mikasa and Armin's apartment is proof of that. I've only been to the club—which Kenny named _Carla's_ , the sentimental bastard—once, but even I was impressed with Kenny's handiwork. The place is huge and secluded, located deep in Trost's forest. It reminds me of a resort more than a club—if you don't take the raves and the fight cages into account. The vast array of vices it caters to is astounding. You can only find it if you know what to look for, and a lot of people go looking for it. If I wasn't so awful at just about everything, I would have asked for a job. I think Hanji might be interested in one, but we don't know if there are any openings, and neither of us feel right asking when we're already indebted to them.

They've made a life for themselves while I was away getting lost, following someone else's footsteps because he didn't get to have a future of his own, and all I have to show for it is a best friend who still mispronounces my name sometimes. She stuck by me through thick and thin, though. Hanji is a lot of things, most of them certifiable, but I'll be damned if she isn't loyal. I secretly adore the fuck out of that damn sphinx, but she doesn't need to know that. I'll never hear the end of it. She makes it easier to wander down this aimless road I'm on. At least I'm not the only one lost. Misery loves company, after all.

I glance at Armin, then Mikasa, both of them staring into their drinks as if all the answers of the universe will spill out of them.

Misery loves company.

I sink back into the cushions. "It's alright," I sigh. Mikasa blinks over at me in surprise. "You're not the first person to tell me I'm fucked up."

"I didn't mean—"

"I know," I say before she can start feeling too bad about it. "It's fine. Just try to keep the psychoanalysis to a minimum today. I'd like to pretend we still have some secrets left in this family." Because, truth is, she's not wrong. I don't think for a second I'm fooling any of them. I can bullshit anyone else but them. They always see through me. And, for once, I'd like to keep this to myself. They can shit on me for being the sad Freudian joke I am any other time, just not today. It's too close. It's too deep. It still hurts too much.

I go back to staring into my mug. This ache in my chest is something I've gotten used to ignoring, have learned how to breathe around it. Usually, I'd let it consume me on this morbid anniversary; in the years I lived with Hanji, she never pushed me to tell her why I was a mess around this time of year. She let me mope and wallow in my own misery in peace. Sometimes, when it got really bad, she'd let me cry on her shoulder, calling out the names of ghosts while she drove her fingers through my hair in silent support. She never bugged me about it, never poked her nose into it in spite of how inherently nosey she is. She worried, of course. I didn't need my gifts to know that. But she gave me space when I needed it, invaded it when the silence got too loud, and distracted me when she could. She made sure I ate and bathed and brushed my teeth—which is ironic, considering I'm the one that has to hound her about her hygiene on the daily.

I had every intention of hiding in my room today, and as much as I like being around Mikasa and Armin again, a part of me wants to be alone. This cafe is nice, but there are too many people. This isn't the distraction I need. It's easier to let go with only Hanji as my witness. She doesn't know the whole story, doesn't share this history with me to be able to judge me for it. Here, surrounded by the evidence that life goes on, my grief feels too messy, too ugly, too _much_.

I don't know why I can't shake the idea that they'll be disappointed if I were to break down the way I usually do. I know better. They would never hold it against me. I know that. I _know_ that. Hell, Armin breaks down when he's _happy_ , and we never give him any shit over it.

But they aren't him, and it's fucking ridiculous that I can't get past this.

 _I miss you_ , I send out into the aether. I've never gotten a response, but it's the best confessor anyone could ask for. My own cosmic diary. _I wish you were here._

He once told me that sending something out there, however small, was the same as dropping a penny in a piggy bank. We each have our own space, our own slice of the pie, but any- and everyone can add to it. And every time we added to it, we were pouring a little bit of magic into all the empty places of the universe.

"If you bottle up all those feelings inside, you're gonna explode," he said. He bounced me on his knees for emphasis, smiling when I giggled. "You have a very special gift, sweetheart, but you can't let it build up. Take it from me, no good ever came from keepin' all that stuff inside. And you got everyone else's stuff comin' at you, too. Pretty confusing, huh?"

I nodded. "How come Mika doesn't…" I mimed an explosion with my hands, hoping he would understand.

He did. He always did. "That's 'cause Mika's works a little differently than yours. But she's still learning how to control hers, too." He grabbed me under my arms and scooped me up so I sat in his lap instead of on his knees. He straightened his legs and reclined against a fallen tree, pressing me against his chest. I must have been around five at the time, so he was thirteen, but he was already so big and strong, a sturdy foundation for me to lean on. I felt safe and warm. The only emotions I felt from him were good ones, soft and familiar. They were my favorite ones. "I know it must've been scary for you. I can only imagine what it's like havin' everyone else's emotions messin' with you. I can smell stuff like that, but it ain't the same." His fingers danced through my hair, scratching lightly at the base of my skull the way I liked. A purr rumbled out of me. His other hand rubbed my back. My eyes closed of their own volition, the stress of my first day at school having drained me. I was almost asleep when he asked, "do you know what magic is?"

I shook my head, rubbing my cheek against his shirt. It was a hazy concept to me, then. Something that simply was. It didn't need an explanation.

"It's energy. All of us are made of energy. The whole universe is energy. Everything is energy, so magic is in everything. You with me so far?"

Not really, but I nodded anyway.

"When you feel something, it has a smell, it has a name. You think it, so it becomes a reality. Somewhere out there, out past the moon and all the stars, there's a bunch of dragons and unicorns dancin' around because someone thought about it hard enough. Pretty cool, right?"

I buried my face in his neck. "Mhm. Really cool."

"So whenever you start feelin' overwhelmed like you did today, I want you to take all that energy and send it out into the universe. It's a really big place. We gotta fill it up with as much magic as we can. And if you ever feel like you can't talk to someone, like me or your mamas or _anybody_ , talk to her. She'll always listen, and she'll never tell any of your secrets."

 _I'll always talk to you_ , I thought, half-asleep. I would only remember bits and pieces of what he said after that, desperately trying to stay awake and listen, and failing miserably. I came to when he stood, carefully cradling me in his arms. His eyes, darker than his mother's and a vibrant, ethereal green, glowed in the sunset.

"Is my koala bear tired?"

"Mhm," I whined.

"Alright, alright." He pressed a kiss to the crown of my head. "Enough yappin'. Let's go home."

I have so many memories of them. Some are clearer than others, and some only come to me when something triggers them; a single wildflower growing out of cracked pavement, the flash of lightning through curtains, the smell of blood and herbs, a soft hum on a summer breeze. I can look through old photos to sharpen their faces in my mind when time blurs them away, but some things will always stand out to me.

Eren was very much a wolf to the core, and had none of the gifts or distinctive physical features attributed to sirenya, but he'd inherited many of his mother's traits. Her beauty was the most notable of these. He had her eyes, big and almond-shaped, framed by long, dark lashes, and they were the most beautiful, brilliant green I've ever seen. People wrote songs about eyes like his. Mama Carla's were the same shade as the waters of the sea she came from, a clear peridot with striations of blue, her pupils the characteristic molten gold shared by most of her oceanic kin. Armin has those pupils, too. Eren didn't have them, but he had flecks of gold twinkling amidst all that perfect green. They shared the same warm brown skin that would darken when we stayed out on the beach too long, and the unique sundew freckles that glistened like golden dewdrops on their cheeks, their noses, their shoulders.

In the sunlight, they were breathtaking, _luminous_. In the water, they became masterpieces. Eren's lack of tail did not hinder him, and he had no trouble keeping up with his mother. Even the grumpy old gorgons would come out of their sea coves to watch—and they hated _everybody_.

Mama Carla didn't always show her scales, and she didn't have a tail like Armin's, but she had fins and webbing that shimmered pale pinks, soft blues and greens, and, when she sang, a pure, blinding white. She had crystals embedded into her skin that gleamed like precious gems. Her spined ears twitched in the direction of the sound she sought, the gentle webbing vibrating as if catching the notes to save for later. Her dark hair fell down her back in gentle waves, always adorned with the seashells we brought back for her on our way home from school because we knew she liked them so much. When ma'Kuchel bought her necklaces, she'd wear them around the crown of her head so they wouldn't rub against her gills. And she loved to cook, so she always smelt of blood and herbs, but the tang of the sea clung to her always.

And always, always, the sound of song.

It wasn't until some kids from school pointed out the differences between us that I became aware of them. It never occurred to me to care. Grownups who didn't know us would ask us where our fathers were. Eren was careful to shield us from the darker, nastier things people would say, and silenced anyone foolish enough to get in his face about it, but I heard enough to understand that our family was different, and not everyone approved. Even tight-knit communities like ours didn't always get along.

I never thought of Mama Carla as Eren's mother. She was _ours_ , his and mine and Mikasa's and Armin's. We had two mothers and an uncle who were our grownups, and we had Eren who played with us, protected us, and took care of us when the grownups were busy being grownups. Mikasa was my sister, and even though I was jealous of the way Armin clung to Eren when he first came to us, I never questioned that he was my brother. My den was my den. End of story.

But Eren was never my brother. I never called him my brother, and I think I might have hurt him without knowing because of that. I loved him, I _adored_ him, but I could never think of him as my brother. Not the way Armin was my brother, or the way Mikasa was my sister. I didn't have a name for it. I still don't. He was Eren. My earliest memories were formed in the curve of his smile. His were the hands that steadied my first steps, the joy that greeted my first words. In the same way Mama Kuchel watched Mama Carla as if she were poetry in motion, I would look at Eren and see living art. If all the world was magic, then Eren was the core of it, the star that breathed light and life into dead rocks and turned them into planets.

I don't idolize a memory. It's so much worse than that.

Of all the memories I have of him, the last one haunts me the most. _Let's go home_ , he'd said around a smile as he shook with pain. It scared me more than the cages ever could.

I'd watched through blood-stained bars as he tore through our captors, his body a twisted tangle of wolf and man, his eyes burning red and gold. We'd heard his furious howl echo through the forest before he crashed into the cabin, the sound carried to us by the trees. A call. A warning. _I'm coming_. Teeth and claws shredded through flesh and bone like it was tissue paper. Twenty-seven jackals armed to the teeth, and not a single one could slow him down.

The other children had quaked in fear of this new monster, but Armin and I wept with relief. I'd felt the tremor that went through Mikasa at the sight of him, felt the overwhelming joy pouring out of her. They'd gunned him down like a dog, and our mother lay lifeless in a pool of her own blood as the hellhounds tore us from our home. We'd thought we'd lost them both.

 _Let's go home_.

I wish I could. But where am I supposed to go, now?

It's not in the human world. Seven years struggling in that mess is enough for me to know that. I don't like the person I became there. But, on the other hand, I'd left Shinganshina because I knew I had to find something. Whatever it was that called to me, it wasn't in my hometown anymore. As hard as it was leaving my den, I couldn't stay. It wasn't what I was looking for. It wasn't my home anymore.

It feels closer here, in Trost. These last few weeks with Mikasa and Armin have been strained, but good. Relearning who they are, consolidating the people I knew with the people they've become, isn't all bad. We used to clash a lot before I left. Time and distance have ground out the sharp edges that used to dig into each other. We get along much better. It helps, too, that being here feels like a vacation. Even Hanji is starting to unwind. The daily grind of trying to survive has left me bone-tired. I can't imagine going through an entire human lifetime there, let alone one of mine. The ever-changing landscape, their fucked up society and hierarchies, their directionless urgency. So much bitter hatred for arbitrary, pointless things. It eats them up inside. It stains the beauty they're capable of, overshadows everything they do. I didn't realize how much it had poisoned me until I left that place. Always in a hurry, always fighting for more, always looking over my shoulder. I slept for two days straight after the first night in Armin and Mika's apartment, and I've been oversleeping ever since. I can feel myself getting better—and though I'm starting to see the damage that place has done to Hanji, I think she's getting better, too.

That's not to say this place doesn't have its problems. It did before I left and I'm sure they've only gotten worse. Archaic laws and rules of engagement. Weird politics. A ruling class no one ever sees or knows a lot about. I was sheltered in our house by the sea, but it reached us even there.

I still remember the anger when I found out what they'd do to him if they found him. The helpless rage that still runs through me when I think about it. Our world is home to many a wild and dangerous creature, most of them mad. Sacrificing one's self to save a bunch of kids in cages is hardly a crime. No matter what he did, what he was forced to become, he was still Eren, and Eren was the best person anyone could ever hope to be. My _favorite_ person. Even now. The humans harbor ridiculous prejudices, and living among them feels like walking barefoot on a bed of nails, but we have our own set of deplorable tendencies here. The first, and most grievous, one I discovered was when I overhead Hannes arguing with his superior over what to do if and when they caught Eren.

A lycan had to sacrifice their human face to turn outside of the full moon. We never thought too much about it because Eren's shifting was always weird, and it never changed him. He was always Eren. Passionate about all the right things and larger than life. There hadn't been any other wolves to compare him to. Now that I've learned more, that I've seen the pack in action and studied them, I understand that Eren was very different from the average lycan. That didn't make him crazy, or wrong. He was _Eren_. But Eren had died, and Mama Carla brought him back by giving him her last song, and something changed. All the precautionary tales were suddenly our reality. And it didn't matter who Eren was, how thoughtful and beautiful and kind he was. It didn't matter that he didn't choose the vargulf. It didn't matter why. All that mattered was that he turned against the moon, and that the vargulf had consumed him.

In this world, when a wolf became a vargulf, they signed their own death warrant. Even if Eren ever found his way home, the courts and their elusive queen would have him killed.

That wasn't the kind of world I wanted to live in. It wasn't then, and it isn't now. But I cannot deny I've felt better here than I ever have before. Maybe it's just a matter of time. Maybe all I have to do is stop running after ghosts. Maybe, one day, I'll stop looking for something that isn't there, something I don't have a name for.

Maybe I'll stop hearing his voice in my dreams.

"Did you know," Armin says, wrenching me back into the present. I can tell I've been projecting by the way he's looking at me. I quickly rein myself back in. "The proprietor of this place changes the décor every day? That's what Jean told me. Apparently, she gets impressions of people and memories, and she changes the interior design around them."

"Is that so," Mikasa murmurs into her scarf. She glances at me and I catch her eye over Armin's head. This trip makes a lot more sense.

Armin swirls the little bits of cream around with his straw. "Yeah. Jean says she took the name because, when she lived with humans, she thought Starbucks meant Sagittarius. You know, the constellation?"

"The centaur, right?" Mikasa clarifies.

"Yeah, that one. I think she might be a diviniér, but I've never met her to be sure."

"Bullshit," I scoff, frowning into my mug. "A diviniér would have known to stock some decent tea."

Armin snorts.

"Ugh." Mikasa rolls her eyes. "Let's go find the diva some tea before he glares a hole in the table."

"Or gives the poor barista an ulcer," Armin chimes in.

"Fuck you both," I add, and hide a smile.


	4. THREE - HANJI - to talk of many things

here, Hange (HäNj) is a shortened way of saying Hanji (HäNjē). the 'ge' in Hange is a short, soft J sound. it kinda rhymes with conch (känCH), as in conch shell? am I making any sense? (end me?)

* * *

 **IN THE COMPANY OF HORRORS**

* * *

 **CHAPTER THREE**

" _Levi!_ " is the wail he wakes up to in the middle of the afternoon. He rolls over and blinks into awareness moments before Hanji straddles him. Were it not for time and experience, he would have kicked her teeth in. Still, a lapful of upset sphinx, while not unusual, is not his favorite alarm clock. " _Levi!_ "

Oh no. She's saying his name right. Something terrible must have happened. "Mwuh?" he demands, rubbing at his gunked up eyes.

"I'm diseased," she cries, tail flopping back and forth. Levi squints at it, immediately notes the tangled fur. She grabs his chin and forces his attention toward her face. "Look!"

He blinks several times before he sees what she's talking about. Then he sighs. To her credit, she doesn't even flinch away from his morning breath. "You've been shaving your beard," he realizes. This is what happens when he leaves her in charge of her own upkeep for a few days while he threw himself a little pity party. Their friendship may not be conventional by any stretch of the imagination, but they have specific routines and roles they've perfected over the years. It's how two secretly codependent—and very much non-human—people survived alone in a bustling human city, far away from the safety of their home and families. It works for them. Except. "We're not in Stohess anymore," he gently reminds her, voice soft from sleep. He looks over her jawline again; there's a small cluster of acne by her ear, a few whiteheads further down, and one very prominent bump on her chin. What he also notices—and what she probably hasn't yet—are the blackheads sneaking up on her nose and the surrounding cheek area. He adopts a sterner tone. "And you know better than to shave yourself, Hanjirai. You never do it right."

She huffs. She hasn't brushed her teeth, either. "I was trying to look _presentable_ ," she says, pouting. She slumps on his chest, burying her face in his oversized shirt, and Levi can tell she's lost some weight, too. "Sue me for caring about my appearance."

Levi sucks his teeth at her. "That's a load of bullshit and you know it." Her hair is a little greasy when he tangles his fingers in her honey-colored curls, and it's a testament to their bond that he doesn't immediately run for the hand sanitizer. Instead, he scratches at her scalp the way she likes, mindful of the buildup under his nails. He's determined to worry about it later. Her delighted purr vibrates through them pleasantly. "No one here gives a fuck if you have a beard. You're a fucking sphinx."

She shrugs. "It's not a big deal. You're focusing on the wrong thing, here."

No, he's not. He vividly remembers the first time she chopped off her long, braided beard, how she'd cried so hard she couldn't hold the scissors straight and nearly lopped off part of her chin in the process. He remembers how he'd admired all the trinkets and gems, and the rainbow of ribbons carefully woven into the smooth, curly hair. How surprisingly clean and well-maintained it was when the rest of her was such a mess. A lovely mess, but a mess nonetheless. He'd barely known her, then, but seeing her sob like that in their shared bathroom, half of her pride strewn all over the sink, had broken his heart.

"The humans aren't worth this," he'd told her as he held her, fierce and strangely protective. He hadn't known what else to do. He was never very good at the comfort thing. The cold tile beneath their bare legs hardly registered. All he knew was that he had to do something about the anguish pouring out of her, the underlying fear and resentment seeping into his skin where he touched her. "You don't have to conform to their standards."

The sound she'd made was too wet to be a real laugh. "Did you know," she'd whispered into his chest, "that they determine your worth by how dark or light your skin is?"

"What?" The humans were weird, everyone knew that, but this sounded ridiculous. "That doesn't make any sense."

She nodded. "The darker you are, the _lesser_ you are. Being a woman isn't considered very favorable in their social hierarchy, either." He had to strain to hear her next words. "They killed my mothers because they loved each other. They killed my brother because he was brown. I'm brown _and_ female, Levi. If any of them found out I like women, I—they used to take women they suspected of witchcraft and _burned them_ _alive_. Can you imagine what they would do to me?"

Levi felt sick. He tightened his grip on her, as if he could keep her safe through sheer willpower. "I won't let them touch you. I'll kill anyone who tries," he swore, and he meant it. He still does.

"My point is, I have to… I can't stand out more than I already do. Glamours don't work out here. Assimilation is the only way to survive among them, and walking around with a beard is only going to bring trouble. You should be all right, though. You're pale and you're male. Those are the traits humans value most. You're really pretty, too, so that helps. Are you gay?"

"What's gay?" he asked, still reeling. He felt uncomfortable being broken down into arbitrary pieces, being placed into categories he hadn't known existed. And they were _favorable_ categories. He could feel her sadness shift to determination, but he couldn't imagine what it felt like for her—a proud sphinx being told she was inferior because of qualities that made her who she was. Qualities she was born with. And yet, here she was, trying to live among the very people that condemned her. Trying to understand them.

What the hell was she even doing here? _Why?_ He wanted to ask, but didn't dare. It wasn't his place to pry.

"Gay is—well, I suppose it's more important whether or not you're straight. Hm. Where did you say you came from? This might get complicated real fast if you've never heard of—okay." She sniffled and pulled back far enough to wipe her face. Levi kept a loose hold on her; the physical contact seemed to help, and it was the only thing he could do. It made him miss his den even more. "First thing's first. Do you like girls?"

His brow furrowed. "I don't know."

"Boys?"

Unbidden, an image of Eren's face came to mind. His velvety brown skin made of carnelian gems, all warm and speckled with gold as if he'd swallowed the sun. Levi felt his face suddenly grow warmer. He averted his eyes. "I don't know."

Explaining all the labels and social mores humans used helped to distract her, but a sphinx's only vanity was their beard. After that, it was easier to shave when the stubble came in. Less painful. He made it a point to sit with her through it every other morning, or do it himself. She seemed less sad when he groomed her. Sphinxes were like wolves in that respect, he'd come to understand. Like cúbare, who craved affection. Like mermaids, who swam in pods. They took care of each other, and took pleasure from being cared for. So he helped her come up with a good skincare regimen, helped her get that close shave she couldn't bring herself to do. Untangled her hair, made sure she showered every day because she'd get caught up researching some random thing and neglected herself too easily. It costed him nothing to do these things, and if it gave her back a piece of what she'd lost, he didn't mind.

But they're not in Stohess anymore. No one would look twice at a sphinx with a beard. She's gotten more attention for her lack of one. Levi suspects the years amongst the humans have warped her self-perception. She's forgotten the majesty of her people—the beauty in herself. He's done nothing to help her, either, in the few weeks they've been here.

He should have paid more attention. Nothing he can do about it now except do better. Be better. "There's some activated charcoal in the cabinet." He gestures towards the door and the adjoining bathroom beyond. "Go get your towel. You're filthy."

"You're so mean," she whines.

" _Go_."

She rolls off of him. "Alright, alright." Hanji throws him a small smile, coal-black eyes soft behind her glasses. Her tail curls in happiness. "Thanks."

Levi stares at the closed door for a long time before he, too, rolls out of bed. The last vestiges of his dream fade away. It won't occur to him until much, much later to wonder who she was trying to look presentable for.

.

.

 **HANJI** **  
**_to talk of many things_

 _…_ _descendants of Lycaon, the first wolf. Though born with a high susceptibility to lunacy, direwolves were believed…_

 _…_ _many attempts to summon the dreadwolf, they were never—_

I sit back and rub my eyes. I haven't read a physical book in a long time. I appreciate the books my mothers sent me, but I've been spoiled by technology. My eyes tend to skim over big blocks of text, so used to search engines doing all the work for me. These books are old, too. Most likely the spoils of another archeological dig, or something they found in the tombs. Nothing I'll ever find on Google.

Not yet, anyway.

I close the book and try to put the notes scattered across my desk into some semblance of order. Almost all of them are on the subject I've spent years studying, but that doesn't mean I understand them. They are, by far, the strangest creatures I've ever come across.

Humans have short lifespans, and everything in their lives reflects this. They mate young, bear children young, and, in many cases, die too young. They're always in a rush. They have no magic to aid them, so they create their own. Clever. Resourceful. Their greatest achievements are never enough, especially their ever-evolving technological advances; every year means new phones, new televisions, new cars, new updates, new _everything_. Bigger, better, faster. And all of it must be done now, now, _now_.

They're considered mature adults before their bodies have finished developing. They spend a quarter of their lives in school, more if they're lucky, and are already considered past their primes by the time they finish—and they have yet to _begin_ them. Many of those born in Paradis often seek schooling on the human side of things for the opportunity to receive higher education so young, gaining an advantage in their field of choice before they return to find mentors. Or, for those who don't want to wait anywhere from fifty to a hundred years for a proper apprenticeship—and can blend in well enough—they stay on and make a life among the humans in their chosen career. Or they do both.

Time, for us, is relative. Time, for them, is precious.

They're extremely adaptable because they have to be to survive such hectic, chaotic lifestyles. And yet, it can take generations for their societies to change, for old-fashioned, outdated views to make way for newer, better ones. There's so many of them, and they all want to be different, and they're so competitive; they love their prejudices, and they're constantly fighting each other over who deserves more, who gets to have freedom, who's more different and better or worse because of it, and, worst of all, who gets to live. All of this, based off of arbitrary categories they put each other in that have no basis other than, "were you born with the _right_ set of genetics?"

They're not all bad, though. Individually, I've met some good people. Some traits are shared by the species as a whole, regardless of which region they call home, and some of them are similar to ours. They like to collect shiny things to decorate themselves and their nests with. Some use pigments and dyes to color their fringes and various parts of their skin. They're not an amphibious race, nor can they hold their breath for very long, but they flock to bodies of water just to splash. They've been observed helping creatures in distress, even at risk of putting themselves in peril; their wildlife seems to perceive them as a whimsical apex predator that shifts wildly between malevolent and benevolent, and will often approach them when in need of help.

Would that they treated each other with the same mindfulness they occasionally showed the animals and environment around them, maybe living as a human, _with_ humans, would not be such a chore.

But they are capable of beautiful and incredible things. So incredible that eldians who travel there will often adapt some of humanity's inventions and ideas for their own purposes. The process is much slower, and it can take decades for the more isolated to catch wind of the existence of things such as electricity, but the change is welcome.

Crossing over is more common nowadays than it used to be thanks to the surge in enchanted artifacts and guides, which gained popularity even before the ban on interplanar travel was lifted. Before, crossing could only be done safely by certified arcanists and certain types of shifters, even the odd halfling with the right inclination. It was too dangerous for anyone else. At least, that was the reason given, but everyone knows the courts have their own agenda; some of their laws are absolutely ridiculous, and people crossed over anyway, safety and regulation be damned. Now, though, even your run-of-the-mill shoppekeep can hop over for some supplies and be back in time for lunch. It's no surprise some of the more popular human franchises are starting to pop up here, too; the Starbucks is the perfect example of this. A few technological bits and bobs have started filtering in little by little, much to my delight.

Yet no one's thought to bring the internet here. It's frustrating. I've been thinking of ways to set up a small, private hotspot to tap into it, but the walls make it difficult. Too much magical interference, too much spirit chatter. It's similar to how humans can pick up ghostly gibberish from our end on certain frequencies, except _every_ frequency here is garbage. The spells required to pierce the veils are too advanced for me to try. Levi might be able to do them, Seshat knows he's strong enough, but learning them is tricky. Only licensed mages are allowed to perform them.

A minor hiccup. We've done worse things to survive among humanity. Breaking a few laws here won't be a problem. Trickier, sure, but hardly an issue. I'm sure Levi won't mind lending a hand once I figure out how to tackle this problem.

It's one of many projects I've been working on. Higher on my priority list than most. As much as I enjoy being back in Paradis, even if it's not my desert oasis, I've grown accustomed to certain amenities. They're considered luxuries here. As conflicted as I am about humanity as a whole, their inventions are astounding. Having an entire world of information at my fingertips and then suddenly being cut off from it makes me itchy. I'm going through withdrawal. Levi is, too. He seems more restless than usual, lost and listless. I've lost track of how many times he's spaced out in the middle of a conversation, staring out at the trees, eyes distant.

Speaking of.

"Lee-vee?" I stand and stretch. " _Lee-vee,_ " I sing.

It doesn't take long to find him. This place is huge, but it's only two floors, and part of the second looks over the first. I follow the smell of char and smoke.

The kitchen is a catastrophe of flour and lumpy batter. Utensils are strewn about haphazardly. Given Levi's fastidiousness and extreme aversion to clutter, it's alarming, but I find myself fighting to swallow back laughter at the sight of the shrimp himself scowling at a bowl of _something_. He, too, is covered in flour.

"I miss YouTube," Levi huffs, tossing the whisk in the sink. "I don't remember a single fucking recipe. How the fuck are we supposed to survive without the internet showing us how to adult?"

Case and point. I have _got_ to figure out a way to get a clear signal across, or we're going to be stuck in netless hell forever. We'll never survive.

I can't tell if he's being ironic or not. He gets like this around this time of year. Small things will flare into bigger, seemingly insurmountable problems that frustrate him to the point of angry tears. He once blew up our toaster oven because he didn't know what broiling was. It's nothing new. But I usually have something to distract him with. Some new DIY project, or random cooking tutorials. He loves those. I thought it might be easier this time with his brother and sister around since they seem to share this bone-deep grief, but I haven't seen them much these past few days. Everyone mourns differently, I suppose. The week-long vigil must be exclusive to Levi.

But it's been ten days. It's never lasted this long before.

"Where's everybody?" I ask, eyeing the batter. Pancakes, maybe. But why is it green?

"Fuck if I know," he pouts. He's adorable when he's grumpy. I would tease him for it if I wasn't so worried. "Probably at the club, or something. There's nothing in this fucking apartment, Hanji. How do they live? We've eaten nothing but takeout and leftovers for weeks. I _know_ they know how to cook, we had to cook all the time when—" His whole body tenses. It takes a few minutes before he can speak again, his throat bobbing as he swallows. It takes longer for the stricken expression to leave his face. "Point being, crepes can't be this hard. But I've fucked up, like, ten of them, there's no more flour, they don't even have a _skillet_. What the actual fuck? I found two whole eggs. No carton. Just eggs. I don't think they were chicken eggs, either." He pinches the bridge of his nose, which pinkens. The color travels across his cheeks, down his neck, and disappears into the collar of his oversized shirt. His voice goes higher, quieter. "What is my life."

I cross the room in a few quick strides and wrap my arms around him just as he falls apart. "Oh, honey," I coo into his hair.

"I shouldn't have added the avocado," he sniffles after a while.

"But you hate avocado."

That sets off a whole new round of sobs. "I _know!_ "

"Okay, shh, shh, it's okay." He's starting to scare me. "I'll take care of it."

I coax him back to bed once he's calmed down, promising him I'll clean up the mess. He fights me on it, because of course he does, but I know how to talk around him. Eventually, I convince him to bribe one of the carrier pigeons to send out an order for takeout—my money's on tea, wine, a salad, and baskets of fruit cut into pretty shapes because he's secretly an old man with the appetite of a Hollywood starlet, I _swear_ —and ask him to whip up some of his magic mud masks because we're having a spa day. No buts. He likes making things, anyway. Has a talent for it, too. Very domestic. We never had the money to make a business out of it, but it helped save on small luxuries, and it appeased his DIY obsession. It'll distract him and calm him down while I clean the kitchen. He won't truly settle till it's done. Cleaning helps him, sometimes, but not always, and with the mood he's in, it'll only send him into a panic attack.

I have no idea what could have set him off. He was fine, earlier. After he helped me with my breakout, I'd gone back to my room to try and put some of my notes together. I was thinking about job hunting today, trying to figure out what to do now that neither of us have the constant stress of school looming over us. I left him alone to take a bath, but maybe I should have stayed. Sat on the toilet while he washed, talked to him. He's been so off, lately. I should have kept a better eye on him.

I'm so worried about him.

In a way, I've always been worried about him. There's something missing, something he's been looking for since I met him. I don't know how to help him. After all these years, I still don't know how to help my dearest friend, and it's something that gnaws at me constantly. Coming here has helped us both, I think, but it's not the answer. I don't know what is. I thought his family might know, but I've seen the way they look at him. They don't know, either. And it's the worst kind of failure; for all that he frets and fusses over me, for all that he's there when I need him the most, then tries to brush it off like it's nothing because he doesn't recognize his compulsive need to help people, I can do nothing for him. He's getting worse and I don't even know what is _wrong_.

I have my hypotheses, of course. I'm a sphinx. Mysteries and riddles are my thing. Well, supposed to be. I'm _terrible_ with riddles. I'm much better at puns, in spite of what Levi would have everyone believe.

I do, however, love a good mystery, and unraveling Levi has been a favorite pastime of mine since the day we met. There's more to it than that, of course. I thought he would be a fascinating subject to study in the beginning, but as time went on and I got to know my prickly roommate, he became so much more than another chapter in my compendium.

That's another project. _The Paradis Compendium_ —or _Tales from the Underworld_ , as Levi likes to call it, which is better than _Hanji's Creepy Spybook_ —is my lifelong project. My life's work. It seemed like an easily executable task when I was a cub, scouring through hieroglyphs in the archives, but I've come to realize this collection is most likely going to take all nine of my lives to complete. If I'm lucky.

My mothers are always warning me not to let it consume me. They've had at least one of their lives stolen by the humans, the same as my brother. That's a life they'll never get back, no matter how many they have. They don't want me to waste any of mine. But I'm not. This is different.

The outline I have is scattered and, admittedly, not the most comprehensive. I like to think it reflects the subject I've spent the better part of the last decade studying. Levi thinks it's an excuse, says my chaotic organization was an issue long before I started living as the humans do, but he's one to talk. He's been influenced by them, too. I don't know if he realizes it.

He'll ask things like, "big think?" when I have an idea, or say, "mood," when he agrees with something. Saying things like, "Jesus fucking Christ!" in an attempt to curb his excessive vulgarity is one of the more obvious habits he picked up while living among them. He doesn't even understand the religion it hails from; we've spent long, _long_ hours arguing over whether or not Jesus was a sin eater, a diviniér scam artist, or just a very nice—and very unfortunate—guy. Levi's firmly in camp sin eater. We don't talk about this anymore because of how offended it made the humans who overheard us, and because shorty is a dog with a bone when he thinks he's right. I've learned how to pick my battles with him. Jesus is, apparently, one of the battles best fought another day. Other things, such as the organization and the obsessive cleaning, are ones I will never win.

Not that any of it bothers me, or is bad. Not many of the habits we've picked up are good ones, and it's only now that I've begun to suss them out. I'm starting to notice little nuances here and there as we settle into this new life. A vacation, Levi calls it, but it feels reminiscent of a recovery, maybe a rediscovery. It certainly feels as if we've left a few layers behind.

Learning the world my best friend came from has been an experience. I'm not from around these parts of Paradis, but I like them. I find it fascinating. The colloquial term for Paradis here is the underworld, which has all kinds of interesting connotations tied to it, and I wonder if it's indicative of how the people see their world and themselves. They call themselves darklings and demons instead of eldians. Their views are mired in myth and legend. Considering their anchors are _loup-garou_ , the closest to an actual cerberus anyone's seen in centuries, I suppose it's fitting.

They see their world as separate, but connected. Small islands floating in an abyss of magic, loosely knitted together by the veils. Paradis, to them, is a series of exits on a highway, with the human world being the highway itself. It's a strange concept to me. Where I'm from, we know Paradis as a world locked in walls, circles of varying sizes within each other. Levi and his clan are from the southern area, secluded from the rest of Paradis through a series of powerful gateways—veils. Outsiders rarely venture through their lands. I suppose their seclusion makes it easy to believe we're simply a bunch of loosely connected pieces of land instead of one solid mass. Trost is the more easily accessible border towns of the south, the most stable and the closest to the human wall, and I'm still getting used to the raw magic in the air. It's more of a port town than a border town, a crossing between the planes rather than a boundary.

I can only imagine what it must be like in Shinganshina. If Levi and his siblings are anything to go by, the fabled mecca of magic must be unfathomably powerful—and wonderfully, _terrifyingly_ unstable.

In the same way fish deep under the sea develop abyssal syndrome and swell to gargantuan sizes, I believe Shinganshina's unnatural levels of activity and concentrated energy molded Levi. His strength was staggering to behold when I first met him. I remember wondering what kind of amazing monster he must be to hold such great potential, the air around him crackling with incredible force. I grew used to not-so-subtle pressure of his aura over the years, to the extent that its absence leaves me feeling unbalanced, as if I'll float away without the weight of his presence to anchor me.

The most intriguing is his ignorance of it; he's completely oblivious to his own power. I didn't truly understand until I met his brother and sister, both of them powerful in their own right. Levi is, without a doubt, the strongest of the three, but they're all anomalies. They don't seem to grasp the depth of themselves, either.

Mermaids, for instance, are mercurial by nature, their presence elusive and playful like the water they live in, especially those from shallow water pods. I used to play with the mermaids in the river back home, and they reminded me of splashing through puddles—close enough to touch, darting away the moment my feet touched the water. Tangible, but insubstantial. There was nothing to hold onto because their power lied in the shapeless, ever-moving waves. Conduits, much like the treasured _loup-garou_. Sirens were children borne of land and sea, and their presence was weightier, more solid, but they, too, could not be held for long. Elusive. Mercurial. Like water.

Yet Armin, easily one of the most alluring mermaids I've ever laid eyes on, is morning dew on fresh lemongrass, with only the afterthought of the ocean. Citrus, sweet earth, and sea salt. He's solid, and powerful, and has a thirst for knowledge that rivals my own. Mermaids were one of the first races to go in my compendium as a child, so I've studied and interacted with them extensively, and I've never encountered anything like him before. He doesn't seem at all bothered living in a landlocked city. Perhaps saltwater mers are different than freshwater ones. It's something to consider.

He's a mermaid, there's no denying that. Anyone can tell just by looking at him. But he doesn't feel like one, and he certainly doesn't act like one.

Levi and his sister, on the other hand, are something else entirely. I'm still uncertain what area they specialize in, what is inherent to their race and what is specific to Levi. Do they come by such a powerful presence naturally, or is it the influence of something else? Are they all some kind of empath? Are they all so picky? Levi gets exasperated with my questions, but he doesn't know the answers, either. He knows a lot about shifters, though, and sirens. Mostly wolves. _Especially_ wolves. He knew things I'd never come across in all my studies, and while he's reluctant to speak of it, I've come to the conclusion his Eren must have been a wolf.

That's one subject I wish I could delve into. It's fundamental to who he is as a person. I know it is. My gut tells me so many questions would be answered if I knew more about his Eren. But I can't. I've only ever seen Levi break when that name comes up, and it's painful. I don't have the heart to press for more.

I've also come to learn that most of the rumors surrounding cúbare are wildly exaggerated, at least in their case. Not many of them around to do a more in-depth study. The sex thing, for instance, isn't true. If I had a penny every time someone threw themselves at Levi, we would not have had struggle so hard to get by in college. He's never lacking for dates, sure, but he does it because he has a hard time saying no to the ones who ask nicely—or because he wants a free meal. Poverty has made him a little bit of a mercenary, for sure. Whoever said cúbare feed off of lust was also grossly mistaken. Love and affection are their drugs of choice, at least in Levi's case, and they can live perfectly healthy, happy lives without sex so long as they are cared for and have someone to care for in turn. It's endearing. You wouldn't know it by looking at the little sourpuss, but give him a cuddle and he _purrs_.

I don't know much about Mikasa other than a few observations I've made thus far, and what Levi's told me about her over the years. Their visits were always brief. She's harder to figure out than Armin is. She and Levi clash, I've noticed. My guess is they're too similar to get along all the time.

She's outrageously beautiful, though. Just like her brother. More so, because I'm biased and more inclined toward women. Very inclined. Especially toward Mikasa.

I need to stop thinking about this. Levi picks up on even the smallest shift in emotion and I'm surprised he hasn't said anything about this yet. Seshat knows I can't help myself whenever Mikasa is near.

"What are you so nervous about?" Levi says over my startled scream.

I place my hand over my pounding heart as if I can keep it from leaping onto the counter. The sponge I was using goes flying. He catches it. "You scared the _spirits_ out of me!"

"Did I do you a frighten?"

Maybe it's a good thing we don't have internet. "Why are you like this?"

He has the gall to smirk at me. "You need to get out of your head. I could hear you thinking from my room."

"I should make you wear a bell, you sneaky thing."

He waves his hand dismissively. I notice he looks much better. "Y'know, you might actually finish cleaning if you use soap. You're just spreading all that crap around." He gestures toward the counter I was wiping down. Streaks of watery green batter cover the marble in messy circles. I hadn't noticed. How long has it been? "Go wash your face, I'll clean this up. Wanna grab something to eat?"

"I thought we were sending a pigeon for delivery."

Levi scowls. "Fuck pigeons. They're the most useless demons ever, and that includes slugs. I'd rather walk than deal with those nosey little fuckers."

"You got into another fight, didn't you."

"Shut up and wash your face," he says, shooing me away with his hands. He rolls up his sleeves and moves to the sink. "There's a tea garden I want to visit, and they close early."

"Petra's?" I guess.

"Who?"

"Noveltea, right? The shoppekeep's name is Petra. She's a herb wyrm."

"The plant witch? Yeah, I saw her the other day, I think. Redhead?"

I sigh. He's not wrong, technically, but his habit of oversimplifying everything leaves little room for nuance. "Herb wyrm," I correct. "Not the same thing. Anyway, I told her about you. She said she would start cultivating some black teas since they don't really have anything like Earl Grey on this side of the wall. She's always looking for new plants to grow. Apparently, she was recently approved by the city council to grow in the forest, so she's got a ton of space."

His whole demeanor brightens a little. "She has a pretty good selection of green teas and herbal infusions, but not a lot of oolongs. Did you tell her to grow some pu'erh? I'd kill for a nice, aged pu'erh."

"No, but I'm sure you can tell her when we swing by."

"Fuck, I'd take anything at this point. I miss London Fogs. Can you believe that Starbucks doesn't sell tea lattes? Or real tea, even."

Not again. "I know. You wouldn't shut up about it."

"Fucking _floor dust_ , Hange."

"I know."

He starts attacking the counter with a wet, soapy sponge. "He brought out a _teabag_ , Hange."

"Levi, please."

"How do you open up a Starbucks two blocks away from a tea shop and have the nerve to offer fucking—"

"I'm gonna go wash my butt!" I shout, and escape before he can go on another rant about the clueless barista. He's such a tea snob. His snickers follow me out of the kitchen. "Let me know when you're done!"

I take note of the time as I pass the enchanted grandfather clock in the living room. Over an hour has passed since Levi's episode in the kitchen. I suppose he isn't the only one prone to spacing out these days. I don't know if it's this place, or something else. Maybe it's the change of pace. We'd fallen into the same urgent way of life the humans had; always in a hurry, always with something to do, and never enough time to do anything. Theirs was a culture of instant gratification, and there were benefits to that kind of mindset, but it was exhausting. Here, time isn't such an issue. People made their own hours, lived at their own pace. Even in the bigger, busier cities like Trost. Leisure is a right, not a luxury. It's almost novel having the opportunity to do what I want when I want to. If I want to laze the day away lost in my thoughts, I can. No one will tell me I'm being unproductive. Most likely, they'll do the same.

I spend another hour in the shower before I realize I've yet to grab any soap. It's so easy to lose track of time when every day is a day off.

"Pants," he yells as I'm about to leave my room.

I glance down. "How does he always know?" I mutter to myself, and hop into a pair of shorts I'd thrown over my desk who knows when. I rethink the shirt I have on and slip on an old halter top Levi bought for me instead. The central air here is divine, but it's hot as hell outside. I was born in a desert oasis, I _know_ heat. I like heat. It's the humidity here that's murder. Long sleeves are a big no-no. "Ready?" I call out minutes later. I pocket my phone and wallet out of habit. The phone is useless, but the camera feature might come in handy. It feels weird not to have it on me. Idly, I wonder if that will fade.

"Waiting on you." He's wearing one of his old, worn, oversized shirts I like to call his comfort clothes. This one's a pale green tunic with laces at the collar. Old fashioned with sleeves long enough to cover his knuckles, and he'd cut a hole in the cuffs to slip his thumbs through. It was clearly made for someone twice his size a long time ago, and he usually wears them to sleep. The thin strip of leather that holds his gold key peaks out above the wide collar, as well as his collarbones and most of his pale shoulders. I assume he's wearing shorts, too, because his legs are bare. It's adorable, but he looks about half his age. I withhold the urge to hug him.

I hug him anyway.

"Where's your tail?" he asks, untangling himself.

"Huh?" I twist to look at my butt. I hadn't realized I'd thrown up a glamour. "Oh." I shrug, scratching at my bare midriff. "Habit."

He purses his lips. Then he reaches up and gently flicks my forehead, and the glamour dissolves as if it never was. My tail curls happily, but these shoes weren't made for paws. I wince and flamingo-hop until I've gotten them off, and wiggle my claws in relief. These shorts weren't made for a lioness butt, either, and my thighs are naturally thicker than my human guise so they ride up higher, but I'm not indecent. Short fur covers most of my lower half. "We're not in Stohess," he says. "Learn new habits."

"You're really hung up on that." I run my tongue over my fangs. It's a small adjustment talking around them again. Like riding a bike. Or what I imagine it would be like to ride a bike after a long time not riding one, since I've never ridden one before. We should do that. We have nothing but time on our hands these days, we might as well. "Trust me, I'm well aware we're not in a human city. All these leylines give me headaches."

"Drink the tonic I made you."

"Ran out."

"You need more iron in your diet," he says, "or some iron, period. Come on, we should be able to find you some kind of amulet or something. Fuck knows there's no shortage of New Age garbage trinkets around here, but they'll at least have precious metals. We can charm them ourselves."

" _You_ can charm them," I correct, following him into the elevator. My claws click against the floor. I'll have to file them down. "Honestly, I'm surprised I can still glamour myself." My magic has been slow to respond since we crossed over. A side effect of letting it fester unused for so long. It's similar to muscular atrophy. I've been performing small spells every day—retrieval, illumination, reminders, the kind of easy, mundane spells children learn—and gradually increasing how many I can do before I'm wiped out. It's been weeks and I'm doing better, but undoing years of neglect takes time. My reserves are still smaller than I'd like. All these leylines help as long as I don't overdo it, which is embarrassingly easy to do these days.

Levi, the lucky little punk, doesn't have this problem because he's a freak of nature. The veils don't seem to affect him enough to bother him. He was able to perform basic low-level spells on the human side, albeit with limited success, which is how we got away with half of the stunts we pulled.

The problem was knowledge, not ability; Levi is the first to call Shinganshina a backwater town, but it was glaringly apparent how different his upbringing was compared to mine once I saw his casting circles. I'd studied them for months. They were simple and elegant, but the runes were _ancient_ , and his technique was backwards—he used his left hand and wrote them counterclockwise. The language was confusing, too, shorthand more often than not, but with a dialect I wasn't familiar with. When it all came together it read as if three different people were saying the same word, and they all used their own form of slang. His signature was, and still is, vastly different from mine, rudimentary yet surprisingly complicated, and the spells I knew didn't translate all that well. Our magic was not inherently compatible. Thankfully, he was strong enough to cast the easier ones without a circle, but it was a long time before we were able to coordinate anything.

Even opposing magicks can learn to cooperate with enough time and effort.

"I miss Uber," Levi grumbles under his breath. The elevator chimes and lets us out in the foyer. Mike, the bodyguard and concierge, looks up from behind his desk, nods at us, and goes back to his book. I recognize the title as one Armin was reading a few days ago: _Wild Hearts_. The cover shows a half-changed shifter of indeterminate race with their arms around a young druid, their clothes torn. A bodice-ripper, huh? Interesting. "The market district is too far in this weather. I'm not looking forward to the walk."

"If you'd stop getting into fights with the avalon, we wouldn't have to walk."

"Birds are assholes."

"Racist."

He scoffs.

"What about that vampire you were dating? Are you two still friendly? He has a car."

"Yeah, but I lost his number."

"You're terrible at this," I groan. "He was prime sugar daddy material."

He wrinkles his nose at me. "Ew."

"Oh, please. Let's not forget the professor you strung along for an entire semester. Or your manager at Starbucks. Or that one drug dealer, what was his name?" I snap my fingers. "Big guy, nice tan. He kept talking about his dick piercing all the—"

He sucks his teeth at me. "I get your point, Hanji. Thing is, Erwin's old as balls. He's older than my _mom_. I don't want the word daddy anywhere around him. Besides," he adds, "I never actually dated any of them."

"You just made them think you wanted to."

"No, they _assumed_ I wanted to. Human men always assume you're interested in them, gay or otherwise. You _know_ this."

I sigh and push against the glass door. "You don't have to tell _me_ —"

"You two need a ride?"

Levi and I freeze. To be fair, I didn't think he was capable of speech. He's only ever made quiet grunts and sniffed at us. I'd have a whole conversation with him and he wouldn't say a word. But when I turn to the small desk, Mike is looking back at us expectantly.

I share a glance with Levi. "Sure," I say.

Mike nods, closes his book, and reaches for a sliver of parchment. The feather quill looks old and fancy, an antique, when in actuality it's just a ballpoint pen in disguise. He rips off a piece of parchment, folds it, and picks up the receiver of his rotary phone. "Market district?"

"Market district," I confirm. Beside me, Levi's eyes narrow a fraction. He's reading the concierge, sussing him out for anything suspicious. My glasses show no malicious intent, but they've been wrong before, and I'm thrown off balance. I watch Levi, careful to keep my voice light when I add, "we're going to do some shopping, maybe some sightseeing. Nothing specific. We might be a while." Vague, yet informative.

Levi reaches over to touch my wrist.

 _Calm. Affection. Trust._

I relax, and only then do I realize how tense I've gotten.

Mike looks over at us, finger poised over the dial. Sniffs twice, and frowns. "Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you."

I stretch. "Oh, no worries, big guy. You just gave us a bit of a scare." I can't help laughing a little at our reactions. "We're not so good with people."

He nods. "Spend too much time around humans and anyone will be wary." He spins the wheel, dialing a number. Four digits. "You are safe here."

"Good to know," Levi mutters, crossing his arms. I poke him with my tail. He looks at me, scrunches his nose for a second as if to ask _what?_

"All clear, _mon captiaine?_ " I ask.

"Mostly." Then, as Mike speaks into the receiver, "he wants something."

"Doesn't everybody?"

"Don't start."

"It can't be that bad if you're not all fangy yet."

"There was… something when I said Erwin's name. It was too quick for me to get a solid read, but it was strong. Felt kind of like—" His face smooths over, his demeanor suddenly, inexplicably amused. "Oh."

"Oh? What 'oh'?"

"Jealousy," he says, a corner of his mouth twitching upward.

It takes me a moment to connect the dots. " _Oh._ "

Mike hangs up his call. "Your carriage will be here in twenty. Lunch traffic."

"A _carriage?_ " I ask incredulously.

Mike nods.

"A horse-drawn carriage?"

"Centaurs," Mike corrects with a grunt. "Don't call them horses. They're real touchy about that." He holds out the strip of parchment. "Here. I suggest you get one of their bracelets so you can call them up whenever you need them, but you can use this number, for now. Let them know where you're staying, or drop Mr. Ackerman's name, and they'll give you a discount."

"Mr. Ackerman," Levi repeats blandly, nose wrinkled.

"Oh, wow, thanks!" I take the note. Levi immediately grabs it off of me. I don't bother fighting him over it; my memory spells aren't the strongest at the moment and I'll end up losing it before I slip it into my pocket. I should probably invest in one of those earrings I saw Mikasa with. I can use an enchanted memory charm. Levi can always reinforce them later. "Do they take human currency, or…?"

"Bits," he says. "Credit works, too."

"Wait." Levi glares at the rotary phone. "You mean to tell me I've been wrestling with those fucking birds when you have a goddamn phone down here?"

"You never asked," Mike says with a straight face. I'm impressed.

Levi is not amused. "I want unfettered access."

"It's for business pur—"

"I'll give you Erwin's number."

"Deal."

"And," Levi continues, practically beaming with triumph, "if you'd like, I'll even put in a good word for you. We're still pretty friendly. He'll trust a cúbare's judgment of character. Wouldn't you? "

Mike's clear blue eyes narrow. "What do you want in return?"

"A favor."

I roll my eyes. Him and his favors. Says they're better than money because a favor can be anything, and they come in handy when you're in a pinch, but it's different now.

"Which is?"

"I'll decide when the time comes. Deal?"

The stoic mein drops and Mike blows a strand of his shaggy blond hair out of his face. "Sure thing, kid."

"Good. Just remember: he's a friend of mine. He's a good person, blood kink aside. If you try to run a game on him, I'll slit your fucking throat. Understood?"

"Um."

"Great. Be right back," Levi says, and heads back to the elevator.

I wait for the elevator doors to close before I say anything. "Didn't you lose his number?"

"We've got twenty minutes to find it."

"Ugh."

"Hush. We're making connections, Hange."

"We're not in Stohess anymore," I remind him.

"Yeah, I know," he sighs, "but is there really a difference?"

I want to say _of course there is._ There aren't any cars, there's no internet, and our cells phones are little more than complicated cameras. No guns, no race wars. The air is cleaner, fresher, and the world feels bigger. We can wake up whenever we want, do whatever we want. I don't have to worry about faulty glamours and wearing huge sweatpants just in case, or cramps in my tail from wrapping it around my waist all day when the glamour gave out and Levi wasn't around to recast it. I don't have to shave anymore. I don't have to pretend to be interested in men. We have rights. We don't have to look over our shoulders anymore. Magic dances freely between our fingertips.

But I still look to Levi to cast my spells for me, even the small ones I can do myself—even when I _want_ to do them myself. I still wake up in a panic when I hear floorboards creaking. I still wear my glasses to scan everyone around me no matter how friendly they appear to be. We're still lost and confused, and holding onto each other even when there are other people to hold onto now—still codependent, still living one day at a time.

I'm a thousand times safer in a world full of monsters than I ever was walking amongst humans, but it hasn't sunk in yet.

We're still not alright.

"No," I whisper. "I guess not."

Levi grabs my hand, interlacing our fingers. His skin is cool against mine.

 _Calm. Affection. Trust._

"Don't worry," he says, soft and warm. "We'll be alright. I won't let anything happen to you."

"I know," I say, and I mean it. There's no one I trust more. "I just wish we had wifi. I miss Google."

"Yeah, me too. We'll figure something out."

"About that." No time like the present.

"Big think?"

I bite back a smile. "Big think."


End file.
